


Seasons of Change: Year 3

by MPRose



Series: Seasons of Change [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Redemption
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:02:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 96,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24989500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MPRose/pseuds/MPRose
Summary: Harry is doing his best to enjoy his summer holidays with Dudley, despite his aunt and uncle's best efforts. He, Ron and Hermione, are about to start their third year at Hogwarts, with new subjects and a new defence against the dark arts teacher – and an old friend of Harry's father and godfather. But there is all that mess to sort out with Pettigrew on the loose and Harry's godfather being searched for by the aurors. When Harry gets to Hogwarts, the atmosphere is tense. The dementors are guarding the school, his movements are supposed to be closely monitored, and the focus of the aurors' search is still on Sirius. Perhaps Harry could point them in the right direction...This story is also posted on FanFiction.
Relationships: Dudley Dursley & Harry Potter, Harry Potter & Severus Snape, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter & Ron Weasley, Remus Lupin & Harry Potter, Remus Lupin/Nymphadora Tonks, Sirius Black & Harry Potter
Series: Seasons of Change [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1144457
Comments: 225
Kudos: 442





	1. Chapter 1

Not a week had gone by since the end of term. Thursday morning had not quite dawned when Dumbledore apparated just outside of the entrance to Azkaban. Despite the time of year, he felt immediately chilled to the bone. All colour seemed to be removed from the place, from the lack of plant life – or, indeed, any form of natural life – on the ground; to the thick, bare, windowless walls that shot straight up and covered everything else from sight; to the grey sky and sea.

A human guard was waiting for him, wand in hand, standing in military precision. He was a large fellow who wore an emotionless expression on his blunt features and was clad in the standard grey robes of his uniform. Dumbledore handed over his wand for checking. The guard examined it, before giving an imperceptible nod. The huge, dark metal doors began to open with a low scratching sound.

They walked along long, angular corridors – all windowless, with only a few narrow doors along the way. Despite himself, Dumbledore felt a nagging of claustrophobia. He was glad to finally reach the staffroom, where all the human guards, who were not currently on duty, sat huddled together. The room was only marginally warmer than the rest of the place, but there was the occasional splash of colour from the few personal possessions lying about – mugs, photographs, a book or two.

"Hello, Professor. You were asking about a letter?" said the administrative officer Dumbledore had owled – a scraggly older man with scrunched up features.

"Yes, indeed. I found out recently that the letter Sirius Black received shortly before his demise might have come from a Hogwarts student – one of the younger years, at that. I would like to have a look at it, please." Dumbledore wanted to make sure they were reminded that he was here as the headmaster, and not the Chief Warlock.

"Not sure if I can help you with that, Professor, sir."

Dumbledore pulled out a piece of folded parchment. "Here is the warrant which allows me to look at it. I shall, of course, leave it in your custody – if it is considered evidence."

"No, sir, that's not it. You see, there is no letter. None that we could find, that is. I wish you'd asked first, before coming here. Would've saved you the trip." He shivered, as if he could not imagine anything better than simply being away from where he was.

"I do not understand. Black received a letter days before his death – even the Daily Prophet reported it."

"I'm not saying he didn't. Matter of fact, I was the one who first received it – and had the dementors deliver it to him. But… we didn't find it in his cell when we were preparing it for the next prisoner. Matter of fact, we didn't find much of anything there…"

He went on to explain that Sirius had probably kept the letter on his person, which prompted more questions from Dumbledore. The answers he received added up to a picture he was liking less and less.

"You did not check the body?" he asked, already suspecting the answer he would get.

The guards shifted uncomfortably, directing all their gazes at the large fellow who had seen Dumbledore inside.

"I… That is, we, left it to the dementors. No one requested Black's remains – we did send the request, of course. But as the body was left for us to dispose of, we left if to the dementors to throw into the sea, as we always do in such cases," he explained.

"I see…" Dumbledore hoped his irritation was not already showing. "Let me rephrase that. Did anyone, at any point, see Sirius Black's body?"

A telling silence was his answer.

"So let me see if I understood correctly: you were informed by the dementors that Black had passed away, is that correct?"

"Yes, Professor—"

"After this, how exactly did you proceed? Did you immediately send the announcement to the ministry, asking if there was someone to request the body?"

"Well…" one of the guards began hesitantly. "We knew from the dementors that Black's condition had begun to deteriorate. And we did see him – a couple days earlier. He was barely hanging on, Professor. There's no way that he was faking that—"

"And then, the dementors told us he was, er, gone. It's not easy to communicate with them, you see?" another guard continued, a pale, colourless woman with her hair pulled into a tight bun. "Sometimes, prisoners who lose their minds can become, er, catatonic. But we do always check—"

"And we did with Black as well!" the first guard interjected. "I, myself, cast the spell—"

"Which spell would that be, Mr – Berrycloth?" Dumbledore vaguely remembered the name from having known him as a student at Hogwarts some years ago.

" _Homenum revelio_ , of course, Professor."

"I see…" It seemed, Dumbledore's fears had been justified.

"Well, unless he really is an animagus, that should've been enough." The guard sounded defensive. "And who could've possibly guessed such a thing?"

Who, indeed. Dumbledore sighed. The order of events had become painfully clear, and required no further questioning. If Black really was an animagus – and it seemed the only reasonable conclusion to be drawn by now – then he would not have responded to the human-presence revealing spell if he was in his animagus form, even had he still been alive. The dementors would have tossed him – in animal form – into the sea – after everyone had refused to take custody of his supposed remains.

He next requested to be shown Black's former cell. There were not many humans employed in Azkaban. In fact, there were only about half a dozen, and none of them were keen on making more trips towards the prison cells – where the dementors were to be found – than absolutely necessary. It was with ill humour that they consented to lead Dumbledore to the cell Sirius used to inhabit.

There were no answers to be found there, just as the guards had told him. The cell – a small, dark room, almost entirely bare except for the most basic necessities – contained no personal possessions and no signs that someone had lived there.

"There used to be some… er, scribbles on the walls. Not an uncommon thing in the cells of long-time inmates," the guard hastened to add. "They were removed during the cleaning process."

Without dignifying this with another response, Dumbledore requested to be shown out of Azkaban.

Amelia had been reluctant to reveal to him the identity of the person who had written to Black, Dumbledore thought with a heavy heart as they walked back the way he had come in. But as soon as the news broke that Black was still alive, and had been sighted at Hogwarts, of all places, she had deemed it necessary to tell him of young Harry Potter's wish to contact his godfather. It had come as a most disturbing surprise to Dumbledore, who, until that moment, had still been harbouring the hope that Black was indeed dead and someone else has simply been masquerading as him, in order to protect their true identity.

But Harry had sent Black a letter – telling him what? Something that led to his sudden ill-health, at any rate. It still seemed inconceivable that after exposure to dementors for over a decade, after suffering such ill-health that the guards had easily believed him dead, he had found the strength to make it out of the sea alive.

Dumbledore wilted against the wall of the corridor, as a dementor passed them. Had he already forgotten how full of surprises Black had been? he thought despairingly. From the very first day he had met the boy – the day he had been sorted into Gryffindor – Black had exceeded all expectations placed on him. Especially compared to the people guarding him, an uncharitable part of Dumbledore's mind whispered. He remembered them – all former students of his. None of them could have matched Black's brilliance…

~HP~

After concluding his visit to Azkaban, Dumbledore headed to his appointment with a former student of his. Under other circumstances, this might have been a pleasant interlude, calling up fond memories of the past, despite the unfortunately modest living conditions of the former student. However, these were anything but ordinary circumstances.

He apparated in an essentially uninhabited spot in the region of the Black Mountains, not far from the English border. The tiny cottage, buried in the woods, still looked the same from a little distance away as it had when he had first visited it, so many years ago, barely discernible if you did not know to look for it. On closer inspection, it was showing a lot more wear and tear, from the chipped paint on the door, to the broken off roof tiles.

Dumbledore's reminiscences were interrupted by the voices coming from inside the cottage. It seemed, someone else was visiting Remus as well. Strange, considering he had been expected. Once he knocked and was let in, the mystery cleared up. Apparently, Remus had received an unexpected visit by aurors – or rather, an auror and an auror trainee.

"Wotcher, Professor," Nymphadora Tonks greeted him.

"Albus," came Alastor's curt greeting a moment later.

The first thing Dumbledore's eyes were drawn to inside the tiny living room was the double-page in-depth article in the Daily Prophet, authored by Archibald Fenetre, about security officials at Azkaban putting pressure on the Minister for Magic to recapture Black. Dumbledore had read it the previous day, before his meeting with Fudge. He had almost tried to convince himself that the guards might actually be that eager, and responsible for the strange way his meeting with Fudge had gone, during which he had been informed that dementors would be sent to Hogwarts come September – partly due to Fudge finding out that a Hogwarts student had sent Black a letter before his disappearance. He was unsure if Amelia had revealed the identity of the student in question to Fudge – he hoped not, but it hardly mattered. Despite his best efforts, Dumbledore had not been able to make Fudge reconsider his plan.

The irony, he had discovered that morning, was that the guards would in fact have much preferred it if Dumbledore had reassured them that Black was indeed dead, they had never made a blunder, and it was all a gigantic hoax. They certainly were not the ones putting pressure on Fudge.

He had spent the entire meeting reminding the minister to focus on Pettigrew – who had, after all, evaded capture for significantly longer. It had taken him a moment – he was embarrassed to admit – to realise that Fudge's zeal for justice was strongly attached to his popularity. In fact, popularity seemed to be the only source of pressure that had any influence on Fudge's decision-making at the moment.

"Please have a seat," said Remus.

Dumbledore took the stool Remus must have vacated before opening the door for him, so as not to embarrass him, and seated himself next to the aurors squished together on the tiny sofa. Remus was left to lean against the windowsill.

"I suppose you're on official business here?" Dumbledore asked the aurors.

"More or less," said Alastor in his usual rough voice. Then, with a shake of his head, he explained, "Lupin's already been questioned as a suspect. The auror who had the assignment, Dawlish – don't know if you've heard of him—"

"I have," said Dumbledore.

"Well, let's just say he can be a bit over-zealous. But Scrimgeour finally put an end to that line of enquiry yesterday."

Dumbledore glanced at Remus at this explanation, noting his averted eyes and too-stiff posture. He suppressed a sigh. Perhaps he should have checked up on Remus earlier, he thought.

Alastor, who had followed his glance with his magical eye, grimaced. "Several rounds of questioning, and not once did he consider using Mr Lupin here as a source of information." He shook his head. "But once I had suggested it, and Remus had agreed to help voluntarily with the investigation—"

"Of course," said Remus.

"—Scrimgeour liked the idea well enough, and allowed me to assign it to my trainee. You remember Tonks, I take it?"

"Of course, she's not easy to forget," said Dumbledore genially. "Not to mention, Professor Sprout has been telling us all about your impressive achievements since leaving Hogwarts," he told the young auror trainee.

"Dear old Professor Sprout! Do send her my regards, Professor," said Tonks.

"She just finished her first assisted investigation this year. It was the Lockhart case, if you remember—"

"Of course, I met her at Hogwarts when she was conducting the investigation."

"And I thought she could use more practice," finished Alastor. "We just have a couple of routine questions for Mr Lupin."

"If you wish me to wait outside—"

"No, Professor," Remus said immediately. "I have nothing to hide, and no qualms about answering any and all questions in your presence." He looked and sounded entirely calm.

"W-well," began Tonks, after Alastor had directed his expectant gaze at her – focusing both of his eyes on her. She leafed through a tiny notebook she was holding. "Er, Mr Lupin, have you had any inkling – prior to the, um, the incident at Hogwarts – that either of your friends were still alive?"

She looked surprisingly serious, especially in contrast to the vibrant way she was dressed – a far cry from the way Dumbledore remembered her, dressed in Hogwarts uniforms.

"Former," said Remus.

"Pardon?"

"Former friends. And I… I want to say no, in the sense that I never would have suspected that they were alive. But…" He hesitated. "In hindsight, there were a couple – odd – things that happened last year."

"Oh?" Alastor sounded interested – and surprised.

Dumbledore suspected that was because Alastor thought the questioning was more of an exercise for Tonks, than a useful investigation.

"Yes… I don't know if those events had anything to do with – with _them_ , but—" He swallowed. "I received a Christmas present last year. An anonymous present. It might have been from someone else, I suppose, but… The other thing that I want to mention is even more flimsy. There was an article in the Daily Prophet—"

"Let's come back to the present for a moment," said Tonks. "Could you please tell us what it was? Could we take a look at it?"

"I'm afraid not. It was a potion. It's gone now."

"A potion? What sort of potion?"

"A useful one, I expect," Alastor spoke over his trainee, "if it's already gone."

Ah. She must not know about Remus' lycantrophy, if Alastor did not want to mention Wolfsbane, surmised Dumbledore.

"Well, alright then," Tonks conceded with a frown. She quickly took notes, then looked back up at Remus. "You also mentioned some newspaper articles?"

"Yes. Interviews with an anonymous 'member of the public' that sounded… I don't know how to explain it. They sounded like I was listening to someone I had not talked to in a very long time."

"Which article would that be? And which one of your friends—"

"Former."

"—Sorry, _former_ friends, do you suspect gave the interview?" Tonks turned quite red from embarrassment – in the face, but also the hair.

Remus blinked, surprised, but did not comment. "Sirius Black," he said very quietly. "It was an interview about a piece of legislation that passed last year, um—"

"I see," said Alastor, before Remus could finish the sentence.

Dumbledore admired the speed with which he had understood what Remus was talking about: the very unfortunate new werewolf legislation.

"Right…" Tonks went back to reviewing her notes.

"There was the issue of Pettigrew being a rat animagus," cut in Alastor. "And whether Black is one as well."

"Yes, Mad-Eye. I was getting to that," said Tonks, not bothering to suppress an eye-roll. "So, Mr Lupin, can you tell us anything about that?"

"I'm afraid I can't." Remus looked apologetic. At least on the surface. But Dumbledore had known him from early childhood, from the time of his mischief-making years at Hogwarts. He could tell Remus was nervous, and doing his best to hide it.

"So you claim to have no knowledge of your – _former_ – friends being animagi? Didn't you ever suspect?" Tonks looked at Remus shrewdly, and despite the even tone, there was a sharp, incisive note to her question, suggesting that she was not going to let that topic go easily.

"I haven't met face-to-face with either in almost twelve years. Pettigrew may have acquired all sorts of skills in that stretch of time that I wouldn't know anything about."

"So you're claiming they weren't animagi when you knew them? Would you be willing to stand by that statement if it's discovered that Black is indeed an animagus?"

Dumbledore frowned. The one thing his visit to Azkaban had convinced him of was that Black was almost certainly an animagus. It was the only explanation for his escape. For both Black and Pettigrew to have acquired the same challenging, somewhat obscure magical skill in the last twelve years – after the Potters' death and their separation – was extremely unlikely.

"I'm afraid I can't help you," repeated Remus.

"Can't or won't?" said Dumbledore, cutting across Tonks' reply. Seeing Remus' hesitation, he went on, more sure of his guess. "I mean to say, do you not know, do you not wish to answer, or is there some sort of impediment to you revealing the truth?"

Remus looked equal parts relieved and anguished. He opened his mouth, as if to say something, but then closed it again, dropping his gaze.

"I hope it's not anything truly foolish, like an unbreakable vow?"

The startled look he received in return was all the confirmation he needed. Dumbledore sighed.

"We were such foolish boys," Remus finally said, his voice barely a whisper. "I swore I'd keep their secrets, because they were willing to do such an extraordinary thing for me. The risk, the effort, the fact that it was illegal—"

"For you?" Tonks was frowning. "Whatever do you—"

"Ah, I see," said Alastor. "What an ingenious idea."

Dumbledore had to agree. They had indeed been extraordinarily ingenious boys. What a shame.

"And what foolishness to swear such a vow, keeping someone else's secrets," went on Alastor. "Such a lack of foresight—"

"Yes, yes, Mad-Eye. He failed at Constant Vigilance," said Tonks. "Now, Mr Lupin, is there any wiggle room in that vow you swore? Anything you can tell us?"

Remus opened his mouth, as if trying to speak, but after a moment he shook his head dejectedly.

Tonks slumped in disappointment. "Well, do you know of any other surprise skills Black might have?"

Remus contorted his face into something that resembled a smile, but was more of a grimace. "Only that he was generally very capable. He was an excellent student, even though he never seemed to be working. And after school…" He swept a look over the other two men, conscious not to mention the Order of the Phoenix in front of the uninitiated.

Alastor nodded, much to Tonks' annoyance. She could have hardly stayed unaware of the fact that there were silent conversations going on in the room that she was being excluded from.

"Well," said Tonks. "Mad-Eye, I'm done, I think. So if you don't have any more questions—" At Alastor's head shake, she got up. "In that case, thank you for your help, Mr Lupin—"

"One other thing," said Remus. "You asked about Black's skills, but let me say that Pettigrew was a lot more capable than people sometimes gave him credit for. Not everyone who knew him will be able to tell you this, but please remember that while Black may have escaped from Azkaban, Pettigrew managed to stay undetected for over eleven years. Not just that, but no one even suspected his betrayal. Even I, until very recently, still believed that he had died a hero." He ended on a whisper.

Dumbledore recalled that Pettigrew had indeed not been without talent – merely overshadowed by his vastly more brilliant friends. "I would have a question, if you don't mind," he said.

Tonks sat back down.

"Of course, Professor," said Remus. "Go ahead."

"Actually, it's a couple of hypotheses I wanted to run past you – all of you. Here's what I'm wondering. Pettigrew must have staged his death, with or without Black's help. If he and Black were conspiring together, it would have taken an immense sacrifice on Black's part to take all the blame and let his friend walk free. And yet, how likely is it that they'd be at odds with each other if they both chose to switch sides?"

He was met with confused stares from all his listeners.

"What are you talking about, Albus?" said Alastor. "Of course they're on the same side – on the side of that blasted You-know-who and his band of miscreants—"

"You think they had a disagreement?" asked Remus, surprised.

"Apparently, considering they were fighting each other when they were discovered in the Chamber of Secrets—"

The exclamations of surprise gave Dumbledore pause. "Someone neglected to make you aware of this, I take it?" He was beginning to think that he would have to have another _chat_ with Fudge very soon, much to his annoyance. And this time, he would make sure it was in his official capacity as Chief Warlock, if necessary.

"Professor, could—" Remus swallowed. "Could, maybe, Pettigrew have been trying to help fight Black?" There was an awful hope in his eyes.

"Oh, he did fight Black, but he was definitely helping the possessed Lockhart. In fact, it was Black who distracted him away from attacking Minerva and the others."

This calm announcement was met with a great amount of surprise from the aurors. Remus, on the other hand, looked away, but it was clear his thoughts were racing.

"I've been wondering what could have caused such a change of heart on Black's part," went on Dumbledore. "To openly thwart a plot instigated by an artefact of Voldemort's speaks of – _dedication_. Yet, there can be no doubt that Black was Voldemort's follower by conviction—"

"Of course not," said Moody. "He was questioned with Veritaserum."

"Indeed," Dumbledore nodded. "His dedication was such that he helped Voldemort kill James Potter – who had been believed to be Black's closest friend—" He drew another breath, as Remus turned fully away. "That hardly suggests that he would switch sides now. The only thing I can think of is that he had not planned to take the fall for his friend, after all, and that Pettigrew somehow tricked him."

Remus turned his head woodenly to look at him, and nodded jerkily. "Black would have been livid if Pettigrew managed to trick him like that."

The real question, Dumbledore supposed, was why Pettigrew would have chosen to betray Black as well.

A pause fell in the conversation. After a moment, Alastor nodded. "A most informative interview, this has been." He nodded. "What do you think, Tonks? Was this worth our while?"

Tonks responded with an indelicate snort. "Wonder what Scrimgeour will have to say."

The way Alastor smiled grimly, he was rather looking forward to that conversation.

Once the aurors had left, Remus offered Dumbledore the sofa, as well as a cup of tea, before seating himself opposite him on the stool. While he was away, making the tea, Dumbledore had time to take in the surroundings. It was the same plain, tiny cottage Remus' parents had moved to after their funds had run out, spent on every supposed cure for lycantrophy they had heard of, and being ostracised from every neighbourhood for keeping their werewolf child. It looked a lot shabbier than it had back then, but likely still concealed the same reinforced basement.

"How is your father?" he asked his former student once Remus had sat down with his tea in hand. He remembered that Remus' mother had passed away a few years ago.

"He's doing alright. He's living in Cardiff now, with my aunt, his sister. He was beginning to find living out here more and more difficult, until I finally convinced him to move…"

Dumbledore nodded. Being aware of Remus' father's constant blaming himself for his son's condition, he knew there was much left unsaid, but he did not prod further. "And how have you been, Remus?" he asked instead.

"I'm still around, I suppose," was the quiet reply. Under the new wrinkles, the greying hair, Remus looked as patient, as persevering as ever. He clearly was affected by Black and Pettigrew being alive. However, within a moment's span, his calm had reasserted itself.

"I believe enough of your time has been taken up already today, so I'll come straight to the point. I wanted to offer you the defence against the dark arts teaching post this year—"

Remus' eyes widened. "Professor, that's – I-I really don't think—"

Dumbledore held up his hand. "Let's agree that I'm aware of the obvious objections you may have, regarding your condition—"

"And my lack of qualification—"

"A technicality, as we both know—"

"As well as my former association with – with—" Remus waved his hands.

"Yes. Exactly. Your association with Pettigrew and Black. Your understanding of their motivations, their actions—"

"Which makes me a suspect—"

"Not in my eyes. And, frankly, those who suspect you need their eyes examined. No. Your association with your former friends would make you a great asset in protecting the school, I believe. You knew them. If anyone can predict their actions, it's got to be you. You also know their secrets – some of which you cannot share, but your knowledge of Black's animagus form should be its own protection for the school."

Remus looked away, his objections slowing. "The wards," he suddenly said. "Professor, I ought to warn you – we – that is, James, Black, Pettigrew, and I – used to know a great deal about the way the school's wards worked. And in great detail. Do you understand?"

"Indeed. I don't believe there's any need to worry on that account. The wards have gone through some changes over the years, and of course they've been reinforced because of the current situation. Not to mention the dementors that will be placed all around the school come September."

Remus looked dissatisfied, but slowly nodded.

"But, of course, if you accept the post, you'll be able to suggest more defences to the school once you're there." Dumbledore beamed, having failed to understand the warning.

Remus got up, agitated. He went to the windowsill to put his mug there, effectively turning away from Dumbledore, if for a moment.

"Remus, I understand that this must be difficult for you," said Dumbledore gently. "But I don't think hiding away from your former friends is quite your style—"

Remus whirled back around, and took the couple steps to the stool. He sat down heavily, burying his face in his hands. "They asked me if I wanted to claim Black's—" He waved his hands, unable to finish the sentence. "I refused. I considered the _funds_ involved—" His breath hitched. "Told myself he didn't deserve my – my c-care, but that wasn't the whole reason. If only I had gone, at least we'd have found out that he was still alive that much sooner."

He fell silent, but Dumbledore did not offer any empty reassurances.

"You know, I haven't talked to him ever since he went to Azkaban; ever since I heard that he had admitted – under Veritaserum – that he'd caused James' death—"

"Been responsible for it. He answered 'no' when he was asked if he _caused_ it, then 'yes' to being responsible – Not that that makes any difference, of course." Dumbledore frowned.

"The Christmas present I received—" Remus switched topics abruptly. "What are the chances, do you think, that someone else sent it?" he asked, clearly hoping for the unlikely answer.

"I can only tell you that unfortunately, to my best knowledge, it wasn't sent by anyone I know."

"Right." Remus scowled. "A change of heart, you called it? Presents for me, driving Pettigrew away from the Chamber of Secrets. What's next?"

"I wouldn't venture to guess, but I might know perhaps what began it." Dumbledore told an astonished Remus about Harry's letter to Black.

"That makes no sense!" exclaimed Remus after a lengthy pause. "What, did Harry's letter guilt him into betraying Pettigrew after going to prison for him? And even if Pettigrew tricked him initially – why would he suddenly thwart Voldemort's plans?"

"You're absolutely right. Black's behaviour does seem bizarre: Trying to get back at Pettigrew is one thing, but interfering with an elaborate plan set in motion by another Death Eater – Lucius Malfoy, if you were wondering, but unfortunately, I couldn't pin it on him—"

"So he's been acting strangely ever since faking his death – first, by staying completely unnoticed for almost an entire year – he could've stayed hidden all his life, if he'd wanted to, I suppose. Only, he had to go and fight with Pettigrew—"

"I'm not sure if faking his death is quite correct. I talked to the Azkaban guards today. They believe Black really did very nearly die—" Dumbledore would have said more, but Remus' stricken look arrested him.

The conclusions were not easy to draw. Had Black felt real guilt? Enough to lead to a real change of heart? It was utterly bizarre. And yet, had Black's betrayal of the Potters not been just as bizarre—

Dumbledore's thoughts ground to a halt as a completely preposterous thought occurred to him. All of Black's actions would stop being bizarre if he had never changed sides at all – if he was innocent of the betrayal he was accused of.

This was too mad a thought, even for Dumbledore's standards. There was the Veritaserum questioning – rushed and incomplete as it had been. He tried to remember the questions asked, the answers given, to find irrefutable reasoning to dismiss his mad thought, but before he had managed, he noticed Remus' stunned expression, shifting through different emotions too quickly for Dumbledore to discern them all.

Once Remus' mind had also stopped racing, the two wizards stared at each other, left with the same, unutterable thought.

Then Remus got up abruptly. "I accept," he said. "I'll come to teach at Hogwarts."


	2. Chapter 2

Tiffy, the new house elf, was still not comfortable enough with the layout of the manor. This, Draco had soon learned to take full advantage of. As soon as his mother had rushed him to his room, he called the house elf, and had her apparate him to the little pantry on the ground floor – supposedly because he wanted a snack. He doubted Tiffy had even been aware that his mother had locked the door to his room.

He considered having her apparate him to the first floor study directly, but if her help was discovered, it would be better if she was not punished too harshly. Otherwise, she might not be as helpful the next time.

As soon as he had sent Tiffy away – she insisted on fussing over him until he was forced to order her to leave – he climbed the oft forgotten stairs next to the pantry, leading up directly next to the study. He could already hear voices from the main staircase, when he got to the door, so he dashed inside and made himself comfortable on the wide windowsill, hidden behind the heavy brocade curtains.

He was not a moment too soon. His father's footsteps followed in after him – firm, long strides that spoke of displeasure. He walked directly towards the windows, and Draco's stomach lurched, but Lucius did not look behind the curtains – instead, he drew them completely shut. A different set of footsteps followed, making small, shuffling sounds. Then the sound of chairs.

"A visit during daytime – I'm sure you must have truly important business to discuss with me," came Lucius' voice, speaking in his usual drawl. But there was undeniable annoyance lurking behind the veneer of politeness.

"Oh it is, it is. Very important," spoke a second, wheezing voice.

Draco was disappointed. The voice did not sound like it belonged to a particularly dangerous dark wizard, as he had anticipated – excitedly hoped for, in fact – when he had been rushed out of the drawing room by his mother. The visitor seemed to be more like one of those colourful characters, like Mr Borgin, that his father sometimes associated with.

"Let's hear it, then," said Lucius.

"Well, Mr Malfoy, we both know, I think, how important it is not to lose the Dark Lord's favour—"

Draco sat up. This was far more serious than he had thought. Was the visitor a real Death Eater?

"You managed to do that quite some time ago, didn't you, Wormtail?" said Lucius. "Why so worried now?"

Wormtail? What sort of name was that, wondered Draco.

"I – well, I tried to regain his favour by helping him cleanse Hogwarts of the mudbloods in Spring—"

Draco felt his heart begin to race. The visitor must be one of those men who had been sighted in the Chamber of Secrets, helping the Heir of Slytherin! He had read about Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew in the newspaper, before his parents had explained all the sordid details. Apparently both of those men had been Potter's parents' friends, before betraying their whereabouts to the Dark Lord. What a joke on Potter that was!

"You mean you failed at helping him. We both know how that little endeavour of yours ended, don't we, Wormtail? Exactly like the last one, when your intel led to the Dark Lord's downfall—"

"It wasn't really _my_ endeavour, though, was it?" Wormtail's tone had become malicious. "You chose to plant that – that key to the Chamber of Secrets at Hogwarts last year—"

Draco wondered if he had misheard. Had his father been involved in the happenings of the previous school year? Lucius had confided in his son that he knew who the Heir of Slytherin was, but beyond that, Draco had been told that their family was to stay out of that business. Would his father not have told him if he had set the whole thing into motion?

"Unfounded speculation—" Lucius' voice had risen. He was beginning to sound angry.

"Is it? I wonder if the Dark Lord will think so when he returns. After all, he'll remember where he left such a very valuable object." Wormtail sounded entirely too calm when saying this.

Draco felt anger rise on his father's behalf. Was that a blackmail attempt against Lucius? Unthinkable! His father would not stand for it, coming from some – some shady character hiding away from the law! Draco anticipated the sharp setdown his father would deliver for quite a while, as the silence lengthened in the study.

When Lucius finally did speak, it was a calm, careful reply. "A rather bold statement. You seem very sure of your – wild guess."

"How about I guess some more?" the wheezing voice continued. "I'm quite well-informed, you see. I know about the ministry raids last summer. Being hunted by Weasley and his like at the ministry can't have been – easy. So a little payback only made sense. The key to the Chamber of Secrets planted with Weasley's youngest child—"

Draco remembered his father's rage at the raids. He also remembered feeling quite grown-up when his father had allowed him to go along to his trip to Borgin and Burkes, to sell some of his illegal items. So had his father really—? Maybe even on that very day, when he had had that row with Weasley (which he definitely had not lost)?

"What are you getting at Wormtail? I haven't got all day!" Now Lucius really did sound angry.

"I was hoping we could find a way to redeem ourselves," came the reply.

" _We_ , Wormtail? After you ineptly destroyed the Dark Lord's plan—"

"I destroyed it?" The visitor's voice had risen in anger, sounding almost like a squeak. "I didn't know what the plan was! I tried to help as much as possible, after _you_ had _abandoned_ his – his – whatever magical object it was! I do wonder, was that what the Dark Lord had in mind when he left it in your keep?"

Draco was beginning to wonder the same thing. Had his father gone against the Dark Lord's wishes? For what purpose? To protect his own skin? To take revenge against the Weasleys? Those were both perfectly acceptable goals for Draco, he told himself.

Even if his father had apparently been afraid enough of Weasley's raids that he had let go of a magical object the Dark Lord had entrusted him with – which maybe ought never to have left Malfoy Manor. Even if he was now worried enough about the Dark Lord's reaction to finding out about that that he was letting himself be blackmailed.

Even if Lucius had let an ancient monster loose on the students of Hogwarts – which had petrified a pureblooded girl – a bloodtraitor Weasley though she was. It could easily have killed someone, Draco knew. It had done so, fifty years ago, after all.

There was a very long pause in the conversation.

Then, finally, Lucius Malfoy spoke. "Never let it be said that I'm not generous with the Dark Lord's followers. Very well, Wormtail. I'll help you regain _your_ lost favour."

~HP~

Monday evening, Ron had planned to go to the village by himself, but Fred and George decided at the last minute that they wanted to go along, and then he had to wait for his elder brothers to get ready. Fred and George kept whispering to each other, making him nervous and annoyed the entire way, until the red telephone box came into view as they came off the public pathway and on the main road, leading into what passed as the centre of the village. It was right in front of the muggle post office, next to the single bus stop.

"Everard's first, then you can wrangle with that contraption—" said Fred, following his brother's gaze.

Everard's Enchanted Essentials was the only shop in Ottery St. Catchpole owned by a wizard, and as the name suggested, stored a little of everything any of the magical inhabitants in the vicinity might want to buy but were unwilling to make the trip to London for. This included useful things like floo powder, but also a small selection of novelty items, the sort Ron's brothers enjoyed buying from places like Zonko's and Gambol and Japes.

Ron put up a fuss. It had been his idea to come to the village in the first place, so he thought it only fair that his brothers should wait for him to make his phone call first. As was usual in such cases, numbers and age won and Ron found himself dragged along to the tiny, cramped inside of Everard's. He stared out of the window while his brothers were huddled together close to the shelves, being utterly suspicious. It was only because Mr Everard knew the Weasley family well enough that he did not suspect them of stealing from him.

Fred and George were readying themselves for Lee Jordan's visit planned for the following day. Ron could understand their eagerness, though it made him a little envious. With the state of Harry's home life, visits on either side were out of the question – unless another disaster happened, like the summer before. As for Hermione, Ron had only seen her once, for a short afternoon visit, when his parents had needed to go to London. Not that he was complaining. Hermione's parents had been kept busy enough checking up on Harry all throughout the summer, calling him every few days and even visiting a couple times, to make sure that he was doing reasonably well.

Once Fred and George were finally done shopping, it was Ron's turn. Nervously rubbing his hands against his pockets, where he kept the muggle change, he stepped into the telephone box. He had been wanting to call Harry for weeks now, almost from the day he had returned home, but had hesitated, restrained himself, until Hermione had shown him the use of a telephone during his visit, among other muggle household items. Even his dad had explained it to him, first pleasantly surprised by his youngest son's interest in muggle things, then a little bemused when Ron had added that he would actually be taking muggle studies come September.

It all went well, until a deep voice answered, "Vernon Dursley speaking."

As soon as Ron asked to speak to Harry, the man started shouting, forcing Ron to pull the receiver away from his ear. How bizarre. Hermione had reasonably explained to him how shouting on the phone was completely unnecessary, and indeed, he could hear quite well without the bellowing. Fed up with the foolish muggle, Ron shouted back something about Hermione having warned him about the response. The Grangers' visits were a very touchy subject for Vernon and Petunia, he knew, but being reminded of them finally did the trick and Harry was put on the line.

"Er, hi, Ron," came his friend's quiet voice.

Ron had to get over the surprise of hearing Harry sound so timid, before he recounted his news. "You won't believe what happened, mate. Dad won the yearly Daily Prophet Draw. It's seven hundred galleons, can you believe it? Seven hundred!"

"Congratulations, Ron!"

"Yeah, it's so exciting! Mum and Dad are talking about visiting Bill in Egypt. They're even thinking of paying for Charlie's portkey from Romania—"

"That's great, Ron. I hope you'll have fun."

"Yeah," sighed Ron. "It's just – what with Hermione now in France—" He lowered his voice when saying this. "Have you told your relatives about that…?"

"Er, it hasn't come up yet," came Harry's evasive answer.

Ron decided Vernon Dursley was probably listening in on the conversation. "Yeah… we'd only be gone for three weeks – a month at most – and I'll send you an owl—"

"I'm fine, Ron," came Harry's hasty reassurance. He must have caught on to Ron's worry for him. "I'm outside a lot," he went on as Ron did not respond right away. "And I sometimes visit Mrs Figg. Snuffles is also alright."

"Right, yes. Good to hear, mate," Ron replied in a more upbeat voice. He had understood Harry's coded message. He had talked to Mrs Figg. So if the Dursleys did something foolish again, like lock him in his bedroom, she would be able to inform someone, even if Ron and Hermione could not be around to check up on him. Hearing even that little bit of news about Sirius was also reassuring.

His worries settled, Ron quickly told Harry about all of the things he was looking forward to on his upcoming trip to Egypt, ending with, "And we'll all be together in one place again – the whole family!"

Harry congratulated him once again, and they hung up, unwilling to stretch Vernon Dursley's patience beyond what was necessary.

"How is he doing?" George asked as soon as Ron stepped out of the public telephone box.

"Do you reckon he needs rescuing again?" added Fred.

Ron shook his head and grinned, touched by his brothers' worry for his friend, by their willingness to stage another rescue mission, if necessary. Annoying as the twins could be, he was still glad to have them as brothers.

Fred and George kept picking up odd threads of conversation as they walked home, but would not come to the point. Ron wondered what they wanted from him, hoping it was not going to be some sort of an elaborate prank, but they arrived home before the twins had made up their minds.

At home, they were met with the same scene they had left: their mother teaching Ginny the first year syllabus. This had become a very common scene, as their mother and sister seemed to be dealing with the disastrous events of Ginny's first year by trying to at least undo the damage that had been done to her education. Having missed most of the first year, she would have quite a bit of catching up to do in her second year.

It was only when their dad arrived home that Ginny got a reprieve. He swept into the house, excitement virtually oozing out of him. "I did it, Molly," he began before he had even taken off his shoes. "I got entry leave in Egypt for all of us, and paid for both portkeys. It's all set up—"

He was immediately bombarded with questions, and did his best to answer them. They would be leaving in a couple of days, and staying for exactly four weeks in Egypt. "You were right, Mollywobbles, the portkeys were much cheaper than the ship. But no matter – we wouldn't want to sail but leave Charlie to travel by portkey, anyway. We'll bring our tents, to save on accommodation—"

The excitement spread through the rest of the family. Ron's mum could not wait to see both her oldest two sons; Percy, the headboy-to-be, was explaining how the trip would be educational enough to make up for distracting him for his NEWT preparations, the twins were reminiscing about all the nasty curses Bill had told them of previously – even Ginny tried her best to be cheerful.

Ron tuned them out, as his mind drifted to Harry. He was no longer dragging his feet, now that he had spoken to his friend. Instead, he was thinking of all the cool things he might find in Egypt to get Harry for his birthday, which would be happening in only a few days, on Saturday.

Charlie's beaming, incredibly freckled face met them when they materialised in Egypt two days later, Bill not far behind him. Both young men were dressed in what Ron surmised were local-style robes, though Bill still had his various piercings. Ron immediately decided they probably had the right idea. The heat had suddenly engulfed him and there was no getting away from it. All his clothes – especially the shoes – were quickly becoming uncomfortable. Then Bill smirked at them all and cast some cooling charms on them and Ron could breathe again.

"Mum, Dad, haven't you heard of light packing? Did you bring the entire Burrow?" was Charlie's greeting.

While his mother started arguing back, Ron's eyes were drawn to the majestic sight of the pyramids, which looked deceptively close by. Nearer to where he stood, he could see that they were at something like an apparition point, which further extended into a busy shopping district. The buildings and tents were all of a similar colour, blending in with the sand surrounding them. The brightest points of colour were the palm tree leaves, far above their heads, which were doing next to nothing to provide them with shade, and the robes of the people milling around them.

"This is the largest magical area of Giza," said Bill. "My flat is not too far from here, in another magical neighbourhood, and you can see where I work." He pointed towards the pyramids with a wide, sweeping motion. "I thought it'd be nice to get a quick glimpse of the area, so I thought of hiring a flying carpet to take us to the camping site."

They dragged their luggage to a tent not too far from the apparition point, displaying magnificent-looking carpets of varying sizes. Bill talked to the vendor and procured one of the largest models. In no time at all, they were flying over the city, the landscape spread out under them, the magical bazaar they were traversing, and the muggle parts of Giza in the periphery.

"I do wonder how they manage to hide the flying carpets," said Mrs Weasley, trying to get comfortable sitting on her knees.

"The same way we hide our brooms, Mum," said Bill in response. "They work very well here. I happen to have one myself, actually."

"Oh, do you?" asked George. "How come you didn't bring it?"

"It wouldn't have been of any use. It's just a one-seater."

"Or a very snug two-seater, eh?" Charlie nudged him.

"Piss off," replied Bill, making the twins snigger.

"Boys," said Mrs Weasley, but her tone was more perfunctory than anything.

Ron was watching the vendors they passed, hoping to get a glimpse of something interesting to buy for Harry. He could hear the conversation shift, as his mother took the first opportunity to prod her two eldest about returning home.

"Look, Mum, that there's the Shafiq estate," Bill said, hoping to distract her. It worked. The mansion with its surrounding lands just outside the city borders was impressive enough to have the whole family marvel at it. "They're actually related to the Shafiqs back in the UK…" He went on to explain, like a good tour guide, and managed to get his mother off his case for the remainder of their trip.

This was merely a short reprieve, however. She picked up the topic once again once Bill and Charlie – who was staying at Bill's flat – had joined them again the next morning. Her eldest son, who had become used to his mother's worries ever since he had become an apprentice in such a dangerous field four years ago, took it all in stride. Without outright telling her that he had absolutely no intention to come back, he deflected all her prodding – sometimes by throwing Charlie under the proverbial bus.

They went to the bazaar that morning, both to get a good look at the local wizarding culture, and because some of them really wanted to do some shopping – Ron among them. Bill showed them the way, before going to work, promising to show them around the tombs that evening, after his working hours were finished.

Ron wanted to look for something suitable for Harry, but everyone else had other ideas. His mum tried to amuse Ginny, whose moods were still fluctuating, and kept steering them to wherever her daughter's eyes were drawn. George decided he wanted to buy the same sort of robe Charlie was wearing, and soon had his twin brother and father convinced to do the same. Even Percy bought himself a fez. Ron tried to get himself heard, but part of the problem was that he had no clear idea what he was looking for, and there was a lot to take in.

Among the magical oil lamps and lanterns, miniature pyramids that promised secrets within, beautiful mosaics that kept shifting and rearranging themselves, and other items clearly meant for tourists, it was easy to lose track of what one was actually after. Ron came to a stop in front of a vendor selling enchanted muggle-style cameras – also for tourists – while his mum was trying her best to use the translation charms to talk to the vendor on the other side of the aisle who was selling local sweets. His dad joined him a moment later.

"Fascinating things, aren't they, muggle cameras? I've been wanting to take one apart for a while now. These of course just look the part, but if you're really interested—"

Ron tried to explain that this was not another case of his new-found interest in muggle things, but his dad was already on a tirade, explaining his understanding of how muggle cameras worked. Percy joined them a moment later, to tell Ron that he supported his little brother's choice of muggle studies.

"A soft subject, some might say – but useful for ministry work," he said, causing Ron to roll his eyes.

Then Percy and their dad began talking about ministry work in general, and Ron joined his mum and Ginny to eat some sweets.

After lunch, the family headed towards the pyramids right away, before Ron had managed to buy anything. Bill met them there, and took them towards the areas accessible by tourists.

"These tombs no longer have anything really dangerous inside," he explained. "All the curses are contained, but you can see the effects they used to have. Gringotts sponsors the clearing process, and in exchange, the goblins receive all the revenue from the tourists. After a while, we remove all remnants of magic, and allow the muggles to 'discover' them."

Bill went on to explain about the different types of magic once they went inside – the ancient Egyptian, the Latin (and Greek) based (that he was mostly working with) from the time of Alexandria's founding, the later Arabic based, and then a mixture of different things, as people from all over the world had begun looking for treasure inside the pyramids in the later centuries.

"Those are the trickiest to remove," said Bill. "You have to know what sorts of spells were commonly used in the different centuries in different parts of the world, and then you have to guess what sorts of effects combining those might have had."

Ron immediately thought of Hermione, and how exciting she would have found Bill's work. He began asking his brother questions – almost in her stead, so he would be able to answer her questions later.

Bill was happy to explain in the beginning, but soon became wary and regarded him thoughtfully. "You're not still worried about that cursed object you found at school, are you Ronnie?" he asked.

Ron hastily shook his head, but did not go back to asking questions. This led to his parents picking up the topic of the cursed diary again, which led to Ginny drawing back into herself, which led to their mum taking her outside when they came across a tomb with mutant skeletons inside. Ron was glad when his mum picked up her old topic of Bill's employment again when they rejoined her, telling Bill about all the jobs he could get as a curse breaker in the UK, with his one year experience working in the pyramids.

Once they had seen enough and were ready to leave to have dinner, they left the tombs, but the tourist traps were not over. There was a photographer, taking charmed photos with the pyramids in the background. Their dad wanted a photo of the whole family – not something they got to do all that often any more – and Ron requested an extra copy to send to Harry as well. Then he saw a stand selling pocket sneakoscopes – to warn him of any leftover curses in the tombs, supposedly – and decided it would make for a nice enough gift. Harry had liked his foe-glass well enough, after all. He became aware of Bill watching him warily, but thankfully Fred chose that moment to ask their elder brother if he could teach him a curse written in Egyptian hieroglyphs.

At dinner, Bill brought up the events of the previous school year again, saying how worried he had been to hear his sister had been petrified. He was very gentle about it, reassuring Ginny, and telling her she would have no problems catching up to her year-mates come September. He even offered to tutor her while she was in Egypt.

Ron found his prodding much less reassuring, once Bill's attention had shifted to him. He had absolutely no intention to explain to his brother – or anyone else from his family – how he and Hermione had known to help Harry (Sirius had told them to), or how scary he had found the supposedly dead marauders (he had been rather reassured by Sirius' presence, actually).

It was when he brought up the sneakoscope Ron had bought – as supposed evidence of the youngest boy being worried – that Ron saw the twins slip beetles in Bill's soup. He kept a straight face while the sneakoscope went off and his eldest brother took it as evidence that it was rubbish sold to wizard tourists and not at all reliable, all the way until Bill took his first spoonful of soup and spit it back out, much to everyone's hilarity.

That night, when they had gone back to the camping site, Bill and Charlie stayed around, not wanting to leave for Bill's flat until it was time to sleep. While the twins were shooting off fireworks and the rest of them were watching, Ron decided to go to his parents' tent (that they shared with Ginny), to write a letter for Harry. He had to send the owl early in the morning, because Harry's birthday was only two days away and Errol would take at least a full day to reach Surrey.

He had barely written a couple lines, when he heard his eldest two brothers come in, and make themselves comfortable on the pillows arranged on the floor near the entrance.

"Do you reckon Mum will take the hint?" Charlie was sniggering.

"What, that after taking twelve OWLs and seven NEWTs and a gruelling three-year long apprenticeship I really want this job? For more than just the one year? You think?" Bill sounded more frustrated than he ever let on in front of them, and Ron realised that his brothers were unaware he was there, sitting behind his parents' bed.

"Maybe if you show her the really scary curses she might—"

"Piss off." Bill shoved Charlie, making him cackle harder. "What about you? Has she already started telling you to come back after your apprenticeship?"

This finally ended Charlie's amusement. "Sure she has. Keeps bringing up the dragon reserves back home, and how she'll try to get used to me working there – even if they're so dangerous."

"But not as dangerous as the dragon reserve in Romania, huh?"

"She can keep thinking that all she wants. I'm planning to stay in Romania. They already offered me a job starting next year, when my apprenticeship is finished—"

"Wow, congratulations, man."

"Yeah. Haven't told Mum yet." Charlie grimaced.

"How are you going to explain it to her, anyway? You gonna tell her you don't fancy running into McFusty in the British dragon reserves?"

Charlie gave a rude response to that.

It was Bill's turn to cackle. "Or would you fancy running into her – or just fancy her?" He yelped as Charlie shoved him, but only laughed harder.

At that point, Ron considered leaving, because he clearly was eavesdropping on a private conversation, but then Bill mentioned his name.

"Yeah, I do know what you mean," sighed Charlie. "We're away and look what happened to the kiddies in the mean time."

"I couldn't believe it when Mum told me little Ginny had been petrified last Christmas," said Bill. "I really considered taking a break and going back with them, but Mum told me it was all over and all we could do was wait for her to be given the mandrake potion. And then, I hear about this cursed thing Malfoy supposedly gave her—"

"You keep going on about Ginny, but what about Ron? That friendship with Harry Potter—"

"Do you remember how much he liked hearing about him? His favourite bedtime story—"

Ron felt his face heat, glad they could not see him.

"Ginny was the same," Charlie added, laughing. "Something about a kid their age doing important things, I guess. But then, last year, Ron and Harry wrote to me about that baby dragon, remember?"

"Sounded like a fun bit of mischief then."

"It did…" Both boys sighed.

Ron was becoming alarmed. If his brothers were becoming suspicious of his adventures with Harry, he would be in a bit of a pickle. There were plenty of things he was not telling his family, after all, most notably about Sirius. Before he could start worrying about how to escape from the tent without being seen, Fred and George came in, telling their elder brothers that their parents were looking for them.

They all left, but the twins came back very soon after. "Ron?" he heard them calling. "Are you in here?"

"What do you want?" Ron answered, when he saw he had been found. He tried to sound abrasive, hoping his brothers would not realise he had been eavesdropping.

"Remember that piece of parchment we lost?" began Fred, immediately worrying Ron.

"We're just saying we know you know enough to understand what we're about to tell you," said George, and it was uncanny how earnest both boys looked.

"When McGonagall took us back to the Gryffindor tower but then told Percy she still had something to discuss with you three—" began Fred, shooting a look at his twin.

"We might have followed your comings and goings after that," added George.

"What?" Ron felt a sudden stab of alarm, before remembering that the twins would not have known how to see Sirius on the map.

"We, er, _somehow_ knew that you met up with Snape, and then Lockhart, and then went to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom." The twins exchanged another look.

"And then Harry and the teachers disappeared," said George.

"You and Hermione waited for some time, before following after them – who knows where—"

This finally made Ron sigh in relief. He had been right. The twins never had figured out how to make the map show the marauders. His brothers noticed his reaction, and did some more silent communicating with each other.

"We just wanted to say—"

"We waited for all of you to reappear for quite some time," said Fred, still utterly serious.

"And we worried – of course we did. But—"

"But we were not all that surprised to hear your explanations after – about the cursed diary, say."

"Because we knew you'd been looking for it."

The twins paused, regarding their younger brother with a strange intensity.

"And – and what, exactly are you getting at?" asked Ron, when the silence got to him.

Another look passed between the other two boys. This was beginning to annoy Ron.

"We just wanted to tell you that we notice you're up to some things—"

"And that we trust you to know what you're doing."

"Really?" Ron blinked in surprise.

"Yeah. You may not have talent for our sort of mischief, but we like your, er, style." Fred smirked at him.

"And support it," added George. "And we want to do our bit – like we helped you with the diary. So if you need Bill to lay off you—"

"Or if there's something you need him to teach you, but don't want to make him suspicious—"

"Then you can count on our help."

"We'll distract him, and question him in your stead."

Ron felt warmth bubble up in his chest, as he mumbled his thanks. "Actually, there are a few things I wouldn't mind Bill telling me about…" he began, thinking of Hermione's general interest in warding, and Sirius' need to break in and out of potentially warded places at the moment.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry accepted another biscuit from Mrs Figg, before going back to staring at the one paragraph he had written. It was a not very nicely worded definition of what type of potion a solution was. Next, he supposed he ought to define what a shrinking solution was in particular. But however he phrased it, it sounded awfully obvious: _A shrinking solution is a solution that shrinks plants and animals._ It just would not do. Snape would cover his parchment in red if he saw a sentence like that.

Dudley's new hand-held gaming console – one of his many birthday presents – was emitting a tinny upbeat tune from the armchair next to Harry. He did not notice his cousin's glance, engrossed as he was in his game, his fingers only leaving the tiny buttons to pick up another square of chocolate. The last of the giant Honeyduke's bar Harry had given him for his birthday was lying in pieces on the coffee table in front of him, being devoured by the boys, with Mrs Figg's occasional help. For the time being, though, she had moved to the opposite corner of her cramped living room, and was now coaxing her various cats to have lunch.

Harry drew the ripped paper with his notes closer. He had written down that the solution shrunk _organic matter_ , which meant more than just plants and animals, he supposed. Next to _animal_ he had written _non-magical, non-human being_. He went back to reword the last part. There were a few other notes taken from his textbook. _Reversible – swelling solution_ and _Gamp's Law_ were circled, while o _ther Law – intent_ had several question marks following after it. He sighed.

Dudley looked up, having heard him. "How're you getting on?" He glanced over, taking note of the paper and parchment spread out on the little coffee table. "Doesn't look like much…"

Harry grimaced. "Yeah, well. Snape has insane standards – and really likes theory."

Mrs Figg, still surrounded by several of her cats, drew near enough to look at his work. "My, my. He sure must have high standards – you've written a whole paragraph!"

Harry snorted and shook his head at Dudley's smirk. Now that Mrs Figg was no longer keeping her identity secret from him, Harry had to admit that she was far less boring than he had believed – though no less eccentric.

She had actually apologised for having bored him on purpose, making him look through the photographs of her cats, when she had looked after him before his Hogwarts days. Then she had explained that it had been necessary to make sure that he did not enjoy himself too much, because his aunt and uncle would have put an end to Harry's visits otherwise. Dudley, who had been there as well, had looked clearly uncomfortable, and Harry had felt sorry for him, for having to hear his parents' faults so openly discussed – truth though it was.

It had not surprised Harry to learn that Dumbledore had told Mrs Figg not to reveal her connection to magic to Harry – at least before he had gone to Hogwarts. His aunt and uncle had no wish to have any connection to the magical world, and Dumbledore had made sure the magical world as a whole had respected that. Harry was less clear on why he had not been told since then.

As things were, it had taken some manoeuvring on his part to explain to Mrs Figg how he knew she was a squib. Sirius had been eager to help, to plan the little manipulation. He had suggested approaching Hagrid, who was always the weakest link, when it came to keeping secrets. Harry, with a conspiratorial grin, had then brought up the photo album Hagrid had given him the year before, and suggested asking Hagrid which of his parents' friends had supplied the photographs. Sirius had returned the grin, and Harry had got the feeling that this must be what planning a prank was like.

It had worked beautifully. Hagrid had hummed and hawed for a little bit, before saying, "There's some from th' school archives, an' some from Rem… er, from an old friend of yer dad's."

Harry had almost asked after Remus, but had at the last moment decided to stay on track. A few more subtle nudges, and finally Harry had asked after the cat seen in some of the photographs that showed him as a baby as well.

"Tha's yer mum's ol' cat, don' remember th' name. Went ter stay with ol' Figgy, I think, after, er…" Hagrid had told him, much to Harry's satisfaction.

He, Ron and Hermione had barely contained their cackles while in Hagrid's presence, and had to leave soon after, deeming the information received enough for Harry to work with. And it had been. Mrs Figg had been bemused at first, when Harry and Dudley had dropped by, surprised that Harry knew of her connection to the magical world. But she had accepted his explanation of hearing of her from Hagrid easily enough, and had seemed happy at the visit – and all the visits that had followed after that.

As much as Harry appreciated the Grangers' attention, their calls and visits did have a somewhat unpleasant side effect: his aunt and uncle were keeping a closer eye on him this summer, making sure no one else noticed anything strange about their nephew. This meant that doing homework in the park had become unwise, because his aunt might drop by at any moment to make sure Harry was not up to anything suspicious that any of their neighbours might notice. Harry had therefore relocated some of his school supplies to Mrs Figg's house, so he could do his school work there, unobserved.

Dudley read through what little Harry had written. "Shrinking solution? Sounds weird."

Harry shrugged. "I think it's one of the things used to make Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans." He perked up at having remembered that, and hastily noted that down.

Dudley snorted. "You're going to talk about making sweets in your essay?"

"Snape doesn't like us to just copy things from the textbook. But obviously I don't have access to any other potions books right now. It's a good thing I remembered reading about Bertie Bott's – that'll be one extra thing, at least, that's not copied straight from my book."

"Oh, Bertie Bott's," said Mrs Figg. "Haven't had those in a while."

"What's those laws?" asked Dudley. "Sound kinda sciencey."

"Ah, those." Harry grimaced. "The first one's Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration. It says that the mundane – er, non-magical – property that you've changed, together with the magic you've used for the change, are constant. It's a kind of conservation law. It tells you that if you change the properties of something non-magical, you can always undo what you've done – in this case with a swelling solution. But transfiguring magical things is a bit trickier."

"Er…" Dudley gave him an uncomprehending look.

"So… Say you have something non-magical. Say some food. If you shrink it with a shrinking solution, its size will change, but so will its internal magic – its magical properties will become different, and so in a way the end result 'remembers' what it used to be like before the change. Does that make sense?"

"Kind of," said Dudley. Then he frowned. "What about Bertie Bott's, then? Have I been eating bits of magic?"

Harry almost laughed at his cousin's worried face. "It wouldn't do you any harm, even if the beans did have magic. But actually no. In first year, I actually looked this up to write to you about. It's one of the company's secrets how they do it, but the beans don't have magic – so you can't untransfigure them and find out the recipes." Harry frowned. "This might have to do with the exceptions to Gamp's Law – but I don't really know." He groaned, reaching for his textbook again.

Mrs Figg grabbed a biscuit herself and then sat down at the other end of the sofa. "That does sound a bit sciencey," she said. "Not that I'd know much about it – science, or magic. Never got to go to school, did I."

The boys shot her perplexed looks.

"My parents didn't know enough about the muggle world to send me to a muggle school – apparently. And I could hardly have gone to Hogwarts."

"But…" Harry stopped, as he realised there was no polite way to end the question.

Dudley was not as easily deterred. "But how did you learn stuff?"

Mrs Figg's eyebrows climbed up her forehead. "How strange. You almost sound concerned about education, Dudley."

"Er, well…" Dudley looked flustered.

"I'm just wondering, because for all the times you two have visited this summer, it's always been Harry doing his homework, and you… Well, you've mostly become really good at playing with that thing." She pointed at Dudley's console.

Harry watched his cousin's face grow red, and thought that the criticism was not entirely deserved. Dudley had remembered to write down his summer assignments this year, and had actually done some of it during Artie's second visit that summer, a couple weeks after Dudley's birthday.

Mrs Figg pulled a face at the reaction her words had caused, then shrugged. "Like most children from magical families, I was taught things like reading and numbers at home. Some history and literature and the like later on as well, when it was clear I was a squib. I also passed the WOMBAT test – a basic aptitude test, all theory, that shows a working knowledge of the magical world – magical beings, laws, and the like," she explained when she noticed the boys did not know what she was talking about.

Harry caught Dudley's glance. His cousin looked as bewildered as he felt. He schooled his facial features, because it seemed vaguely impolite to react in that way.

"But what about—" began Dudley, but broke off, as even he realised that anything he might say would sound rather rude.

"What about finding a job? Or just being able to function in the muggle world – using electrical appliances, the underground, and so on?" Mrs Figg stated the unasked questions herself. She looked amused at the boys' bewildered faces, but also vaguely sad. "I don't think they ever considered that I'd want to live in the muggle world." She began to say something else, but stopped.

Harry looked around the small living room, taking in the television in front of the sofa he was sitting on, the telephone in the corner, the radio on the shelf. That last one might receive the Wireless Wizarding Network, he supposed, but as for the rest, he doubted they could be found in many magical households. "Mr Filch, the caretaker at Hogwarts, is a squib," he said. "So, I guess, squibs can live and work in the magical world…" He was beginning to wonder if that was the most enjoyable life for them, though.

"Well, yes," she conceded. "My parents were hoping that I'd do something like that – or just marry a wizard – and continue to live in a world based on an ability that I didn't have – when there was all this other world out there, full of muggle culture and technology and science – well, muggle science, I suppose." She fell silent for a moment, then went on, "When I met my husband – well, he wasn't my husband at first, of course – I found out just how many pitfalls there are for someone raised solely in the magical world when pretending to be a muggle—"

"Was your husband a muggle?" asked Harry.

She nodded.

"Did he know about magic?" asked Dudley.

"No." Mrs Figg looked down. "Neither do my sons. My husband died before you were born – quite unexpectedly young, even for muggle standards. My sons had both left home by then as well, and that's how I ended up joining the – well, reconnecting with the magical world, and meeting your parents, Harry."

Despite her backtracking, Harry could guess what she had almost said: that she had become a member of the Order of the Phoenix. Sirius had told him all about that.

"But…" Dudley was frowning. "But why? Why can't you tell your family, at least?" He looked visibly upset. Catching his cousin's surprised look, he grimaced. "I'd never have been told about magic if you hadn't come to live with us, would I?"

"Your parents did their best to keep you from finding out as it was," Harry said drily. But thinking about it, he suddenly felt sorry for Mrs Figg, stuck between the two worlds all her life. He became acutely aware how a squib's life was the flip side of a muggleborn's life – or his, for that matter. It had felt awful, when his aunt and uncle had tried to keep him away from his school, from his world. Mrs Figg never got to go to school at all…

"But it's also an actual law, isn't it?" came Dudley's petulant reply. "Even if my parents had wanted to tell me…" He trailed off, as it dawned on him just how unlikely that scenario was.

"Well, no," said Mrs Figg. "You can usually get permission to tell your family members – and even close relatives. It's just…" She trailed off on a soft sigh and stayed silent for a long moment. "I just couldn't think of a good enough reason to tell them. Magic never played a part in their lives, after all. My eldest son's a chemistry teacher – he works at a boarding school not far from Surrey." She named a school Dudley knew from sports competitions with his school. "My son – he really enjoys science – teaching it, and also living by it. He often gets frustrated with me for – well, for checking over dark corners to make sure there are no boggarts hiding there, or laying traps for gnomes in the garden—" She spread her arms, in a show of helplessness. "He thinks I'm being superstitious."

Harry was about to ask about boggarts – or explain to Dudley that gnomes were indeed real – but then another thought came to him. "Mrs Figg, you wouldn't happen to have any of your son's chemistry books, would you?" he asked.

"I think so, yes. The boys do like to leave their stuff here…" She looked surprised at the question, and then her eyes wandered down to the coffee table, where Harry's books and parchment were spread out. "You think you can use them for your homework?" she asked dubiously.

Harry nodded. "It's always a nice exercise to separate out the mundane part of the effect of the potion. It shows theoretical understanding, and all that. And it'll be another thing I didn't copy from the textbook."

"Alright." She rose from her seat, and headed farther inside her house. "I'll go find them. Be right back," she said, with her back already turned to him.

The cousins stared after her, before letting their faces communicate the bewilderment they had felt when hearing her story. Not wanting to discuss her affairs in her hearing range, Harry instead went back to staring at his homework – what little he had written so far. He ought to list the ingredients and the brewing method, he supposed.

Mrs Figg returned before he was finished with that, holding a few books. She settled back on the sofa. "I brought everything I could find. Well, you can have a look through them, see if you can find what you need."

Harry discarded a couple books that looked to be university-level, and also set aside one book that seemed too easy. He was left with a couple likely candidates, and began leafing through one of them. He had a strange sort of déjà vu, as he tried to learn something from a muggle book for the first time after primary school.

"And your teacher won't mind muggle references?" asked Mrs Figg.

Harry cringed a bit. Chances were, she knew who his potions professor was. She might even have heard of Snape's dislike of him, if she kept in contact with some other members of the Order, like McGonagall (Sirius had told him about her as well). "He can mind all he wants," he settled on saying, "but that's what he'll get." He kicked Dudley under the table, as his cousin opened his mouth – Dudley still tended to forget which secrets were to be kept from whom. Snape pretending to dislike him more than he actually did was definitely supposed to stay a secret from virtually everyone.

Mrs Figg shot him a dubious look, but left him to his reading, picking up a newspaper herself.

Dudley picked up one of the books as well. "Look, Harry. This looks just like what you were after!" he said a moment later, shoving another book in front of him. It was opened to a page describing some experiment with an egg.

"Yeah, that looks useful," said Harry, once he had skimmed the text, drawing the book towards him.

"I thought you couldn't do it without magic?" asked Dudley.

Harry rolled his eyes. "You can't. Here, you're just removing some water from the eggs. You're not really shrinking them," he said, pointing to the book. At his cousin's disappointed look, he relented. "It's still part of how the shrinking solution shrinks things."

Dudley was listening intently, and he was not the only one. Mrs Figg was shooting them covert glances, paying attention to what he was saying.

"So … the magical potion would give you a smaller egg – but one that's exactly like the bigger one?" asked Dudley.

"Yes… But that's not even the main difference. There's also that other Law I meant to write about…" Harry opened another of his books, titled _Theory of Magic_. "Ah, here it is: the Law of Opposing Intents. This one applies if you want to shrink animals. Instead of miniature animals, you end up with younger animals – who, of course, happen to be smaller." Happy to have remembered this, he wrote down what he understood to the best of his ability.

"That's weird," said Dudley. "Why not just shrink them?"

"Because it goes against their intent too much. It takes more force, or effort – magic – to turn animals into their miniature selves – because being shrunk wouldn't be very good for them, which means you're opposing their intent. So the potion does what's easier: makes them younger. The more you, er, oppose somebody's intent, the more force is needed…"

~HP~

On the way home, Dudley dragged his feet. This was easier said than done, as Wisteria Walk was only a couple streets away from Privet Drive. Harry could tell he was thinking of something difficult by the way his face had contorted into a bizarre grimace. Back before Harry had gone off to Hogwarts, this expression used to be reserved for heavy mental challenges, like adding numbers larger than ten. This time, however, Harry suspected his cousin really was grappling with a problematic issue.

"Mrs Figg's sons don't know about magic," Dudley finally began. "And her parents didn't know enough about muggles to send her to a normal school."

Harry did not think lack of knowledge had been the real issue in her parents' case, but did not comment.

"So she's stuck in the middle, right? But she's the one who decided not to tell her sons…" Dudley went on, then fell silent, his face once again contorted into lines of thought.

Harry was beginning to get the uncomfortable feeling that he knew where the conversation was headed. "It's probably as she says: there never was any reason to tell them. She's not magic, and neither are her sons." He kept his tone light and unconcerned.

"You don't think, maybe, she thought it'd be better for them if they didn't know? Like, maybe she thought they'd be sad that they don't have magic?"

Harry suppressed a sigh. "Or maybe she thought her husband might not react well – some muggles don't. And then she just carried on with her sons as well."

Dudley shook his head, looking unsatisfied. "But why do you think some muggles don't like knowing about magic? Don't you think it's, well—"

"Envy?" said Harry, thinking of Aunt Petunia, and only realised how sharp his tone sounded when he saw his cousin draw back. "I don't mean … ugh…" he backtracked sheepishly.

They were talking about Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon, of course – though neither was bringing up their names. It was not the first time that summer that they were having that particular non-discussion, either.

"I'm just saying," huffed Dudley. "Not all muggles dislike magic, right? So some people can get over their jealousy—" He meant himself, but would not say. "—And maybe Mrs Figg's family would've as well! But she never gave them the chance—"

"It's not just envy, Dudley. Some people are genuinely weirded out by magic," said Harry impatiently. He was thinking of his uncle, who was set in his ways when it came to absolutely everything, and who – more than Aunt Petunia, Harry thought – would have loved nothing better than to be able to reassure himself that his understanding of the world was complete. Magic – something he definitely did not understand – was not giving him that option.

Dudley opened his mouth to say something else, but they saw Malcolm walking across the street. They had walked almost to the end of Wisteria Walk, and reached the street cutting across it, leading to Privet Drive. Malcolm did not react to seeing Harry walking with his cousin the way he used to the year before. He just waved, answered Dudley's quick greeting, but did not stop. He was among a couple of other boys – boys Harry did not recognise.

Dudley's soft sigh was the only indication the blond boy gave that he was unhappy. He was slowly drifting apart from the boys they had gone to primary school with. There had not been any fights this summer, as there had been the year before, but it seemed, the other boys had begun spending more time with their classmates from Stonewall High – and less time with Dudley. If the same was true for Piers, the social isolation might explain why he seemed less antagonistic towards Dudley this summer. Harry was not sure he liked it, but he was trying to stay out of it.

Once Malcolm and his friends had gone out of sight, they turned the corner. Privet Drive came into view. Dudley slowed down again.

It was Harry, however, who picked the topic back up. "I guess… I guess it wasn't just the muggle side that would've worried Mrs Figg," he said out of a sense of fairness.

He recalled his reunion with Dudley, the worry that had been etched on his cousin's face that he had been unable to alleviate during the entire journey from King's Cross to their home in Little Whinging, and during the uncomfortable dinner that followed, up until Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had finally gone to sleep.

Dudley had been worried for many reasons. There had been the abrupt end to any real updates about the happenings at Hogwarts – Harry's letters had turned into insipid meaningless greetings, barely letting Dudley know he was unhurt, while Sirius' letters had stopped entirely. Dudley could not have failed to realise that his cousin's life must have become more complicated, rather than less, if he dared not write about anything important any more. So he had worried – about Harry, as well as Sirius.

There had been another worry, however, related to the last letter Harry had received from him before the end of term, which he knew he had been unable to answer the way it deserved in his response letter. Dudley had apologised, had taken responsibility for the way he had treated his cousin, for all that they both knew his parents had had the lion's share of the fault. But Dudley had seen in Harry's report of Draco's behaviour, and Snape's favouritism of the Slytherin boy, something of his own faults reflected back to him. The Malfoys had passed on their prejudices to their son, just as the Dursleys had. But Dudley had – with Harry's help initially – chosen to break free of his parents' faults.

With halting words, Harry began to explain the prejudices held in the magical world about muggles to Dudley – ending with Mrs Figg, and how she might have been protecting her husband and children from her birth family's prejudices by not telling them about magic.

Dudley nodded. "I think my parents may have thought something like that as well – that they were protecting me." He held up his hands, to forestall Harry's protests. "I know. They were awful. They treated you horribly. You didn't have your own room, you never had any presents, or a birthday party. You had to do my homework. And they never even told you about your parents – well, they never told you the truth." He rushed all this out in one breath, without looking at Harry. "But I think – and I really don't mean this to be any kind of excuse – that maybe they were trying to make sure I wouldn't have reason to be jealous of you." He fell silent, but would still not look at his cousin.

Harry sighed. He knew Dudley was wrong, but found his words failing him, getting lost in the face of his cousin's hope. Dudley's parents loved him, doted on him, gave him everything he wanted. Of course he loved them back – even if he could see their faults. Harry was not unaware that Dudley was on some level betraying his parents by helping him, and that this was anything but easy for the other boy.

"I – I know, the way they went about it – giving me everything I wanted, and not giving you anything you wanted – was all wrong," Dudley continued haltingly, after Harry had found himself unable to respond. "But if they see that I'm not jealous of you – that I'm happy with my school, and friends, and all that – maybe they'll realise that what they're doing isn't necessary—"

"Dudley," interrupted Harry, but then did not know how to go on.

It dawned on him that his cousin had been trying to get that message across to his parents for weeks now, letting them know that he was doing better at school, that he did not need to copy anyone's homework any more; that he was improving his boxing skills, and hoping to even compete the following year; that he enjoyed his new friendships with the boys from Smeltings – Artie, as well as a few boys from the boxing club.

"You don't," Harry finally managed to say. "Have reason to be jealous of me, I mean. You've been doing so much better this year…" Harry had written encouragements for his cousin's achievements in his letters, but it was different saying such things out loud, with Dudley standing in front of him. But he persevered, giving Dudley credit for all his effort.

A part of Harry wondered if Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon had done the same. At least in his hearing range, there had been no change in how they talked about their son, no acknowledgement that he was trying in a way he never had before. In their eyes, Dudley was always clever, no matter what his marks or teachers said. He was always the best boy, even if other children complained about him. But encouraging his effort? If anything, Aunt Petunia had been trying to feed him more, because he had managed to lose a little more weight. As for Uncle Vernon, he had joked about nerds, when he had witnessed his son doing his summer school work.

And yet, Dudley thought he could change his parents, if only he showed them how well he was doing… Harry would have laughed, had he not found the thought so sad.

The awkward moment following Harry's words lengthened, before both boys decided simultaneously to head back home. Harry did not find the words to caution his cousin against his hope of changing his parents. If anything, he felt like his talk about Mrs Figg had given Dudley more ideas.

Harry excused himself quickly once they were back. Dudley made an aborted gesture, trying to invite him to stay around until dinner was served, but Harry glossed over it, before disappearing up the stairs. They had arrived home together. That was more than enough to land him with suspicious looks from his aunt and uncle, without adding to it. Once in his room, Harry decided to ask Sirius later that night how to talk to his cousin. If he did not say something, he worried that Dudley would have his hopes dashed in a very unpleasant manner. And that might not even be the worst outcome.

The problem was partly that his relationship with his aunt and uncle had changed – first, after learning about magic, of course, but then again, after the first visit by Hermione and her parents the previous summer. A respectable, muggle couple looking out for Harry's well-being and keeping tabs on how his aunt and uncle were treating him had made a difference – even if the Grangers' daughter was a witch.

On the one hand – on the surface – things had improved. Harry had fewer chores to do, was allowed to leave the house during the day as he pleased, was rarely bothered in his room and was generally treated with a little bit more politeness. He was even allowed to let Hedwig out at night, provided she did not carry any letters. That last point he had not bothered to argue against, because he was being paranoid about his letters falling into the wrong hands, anyway. Besides, he was able to keep in contact with Hermione over the phone.

The drawbacks of this change were more difficult to sum up. His aunt and uncle had always made sure to remind him that he was foisted upon them against their will. Despite this, he had still been a part of the family – no matter how unwanted or disliked. But the more the Grangers kept an eye on him, the more they tried to make his aunt and uncle treat him better, the more he was beginning to feel like a foreign particle in the house – something that was to be tolerated resentfully, but really did not belong there. Despite everything, he found it decidedly unpleasant to constantly be made to feel like he ought to disappear.

Dudley's close relationship with his parents meant that Harry could not discuss the situation with his cousin, either, despite their strengthening friendship.

~HP~

Harry went back to his room as soon as dinner was finished and he had done the washing-up. He had to wait for his aunt and uncle to go to sleep, before he dared to call Sirius. Even if such a blatant use of magic in their home had not been enough to push them over the edge, a much bigger problem was that they would recognise Sirius. His godfather had recently made an appearance on the muggle news, and Harry suspected his aunt and uncle would relish the thought of assisting with putting him behind bars.

Harry tried to doze in the mean time, but ended up falling asleep. When he woke, the house was quiet, it was dark outside and he could no longer hear his relatives' voices coming up from the living room, intermixed with the sound of the television. Hoping he had not worried Sirius overmuch by missing his usual call time, he reached for the two-way mirror, his torch, and also checked the clock. It was just after midnight – only a little later than usual.

Sirius' face appeared immediately when Harry called him. "Did you fall asleep again?" he asked right away.

Harry grunted. There was no point in denying it – he probably still looked bleary-eyed. "Where are you now?" he asked instead.

Sirius rarely told him his exact location – because he was no less paranoid than Harry – but he usually showed Harry some of his surroundings through the mirror. At the moment, he appeared to be inside a cave, lit dimly by a small campfire.

"Look what I found," said Sirius, holding up a newspaper in front of his mirror. It contained a moving photograph of him in Azkaban, looking filthy and emaciated, with an almost deranged expression, silently shouting at the viewer.

Harry had seen a number of such photographs of Sirius in the previous weeks, and the initial reaction had long since worn off. "Yeah, there was a picture of you in the muggle news as well. Not quite as flattering as that one, I'm afraid—"

Sirius mock-scowled, then held up the page of the Daily Prophet close enough to the mirror that Harry could read the title. It was about dementors at Hogwarts. "They're going to be, er, _guarding_ the school come September," explained Sirius.

"What? Why?"

"That's where Pettigrew and I were seen, and Fudge's imagination doesn't extend beyond that." Sirius shook his head. "No, unfortunately, it's not just that. Dumbledore might've argued him out of it in that case. No, there's some speculation that the letter I received before my, er, prison break—" Sirius rolled his eyes. Did almost dying count as prison break? "—was sent by a Hogwarts student—"

"Oh, no. Do you mean that horrible letter I sent?" asked an alarmed Harry. "Did they find it?"

"No, I still have it. And what do you mean, horrible? It's almost as good as the letter you sent Dudley – he shared it with me last year, you know—"

Harry, feeling his face heat, returned the conversation to the topic at hand. "Do they know it was sent by me?"

"Not yet. They don't know much of anything, really. But apparently it's obvious that I'd want to take revenge – hence the dementors."

"So they're still focused on you and not Pettigrew?"

"Oh, yes. I'm the mastermind behind our shared villainy—"

"Same in the muggle news. Pettigrew is talked about like he's your sidekick or something." Harry scowled, thinking back to what Sirius had told him. "All because of that sham of a questioning they put you through. A few stupid questions, and they never let you explain yourself!"

"It was war. That's how most Death Eaters were dealt with. Few got a real trial after the initial questioning. I made the choice not to tell them about Pettigrew myself – after the botched Veritaserum questioning. I didn't want to mention him without any evidence, because I knew if rumour got out, he'd run for good – leave the country, live as a muggle – something like that. Back then, I was still hoping I'd get a proper trial."

"At least, if they'd focus on Pettigrew… Maybe if I'd tried harder to convince the teachers that it was Pettigrew who was attacking us, and not you—"

"Nonsense. They were there – they hardly need you to tell them what they saw with their own eyes. And anyway, it's better this way – for the moment. It's better for Pettigrew to feel somewhat secure, so he doesn't try too hard to flee—"

They stopped, both knowing that they had discussed the same point almost every day since the end of school.

"Why are they so eager to put all blame on you?" Harry asked with a morose sigh.

Sirius did not respond.

Finally, Harry changed the topic, and told his godfather of his talk with Dudley – as well as Mrs Figg. Sirius did not dismiss his worries. If anything, he looked unexpectedly troubled.

"Make sure Dudley knows you don't want him to defend you publicly," he said. "It – could get ugly. He's never had his parents' disapproval, and if the first time it happens is because of you—" Sirius trailed off, shaking his head.

Harry got the feeling that the situation was not entirely unfamiliar to his godfather. He asked.

Sirius nodded. "Yes. It does remind me a bit of me and my brother, growing up. He tried to defend me a couple of times, but always ended up regretting it once my parents' ire turned on him…"

This time, it was Sirius who switched topics, bringing up Harry's summer homework. He grimaced at hearing about the potions essay – the subject had never been his favourite, but knowing that the homework was for Snape really disagreed with him. He perked up when Harry told him about including information from a muggle book. After thinking it over, Sirius suggested a few simple calculations Harry could do, like the difference in volume due to the mundane action of the potion, versus the magical action.

Sirius had helped Harry to include similar calculations in his summer homework in several subjects, explaining to his godson how the formulas he had been learning in the past couple of years were all arithmancy. He had been happy to hear that Harry would be taking arithmancy as an elective, and had admitted that it used to be one of his more liked subjects at school. Harry appreciated this, as he found it reasonably interesting himself.

What he found less reasonable, was Sirius' opinion of his astronomical charts. They both agreed that astronomy was not the most useful subject, but while Harry was happy to do his homework in a perfunctory manner, Sirius just could not abide seeing Harry's messy charts. As far as Harry could figure, it had to do with the Black family's obsession with stars, and their indoctrination that Sirius still had not been able to fully rid himself of. And Harry was the one suffering for it. He had been forced to redo his summer homework, after tiring of Sirius' constant comments about it. They finished Harry's second attempt in torchlight, and after Sirius finally deeming it tolerable an hour later, they said goodbye.

Harry lay in the darkened room, trying to fall back asleep, but the worries of the day would not relinquish their hold. He ought to talk to Dudley, he thought, but did not know what to say. It was tempting not to say anything at all, but Aunt Marge was due to arrive in a couple of weeks, and he feared how that would affect the already precarious balance of the Dursley household.


	4. Chapter 4

It had begun with Harry offering to mow the garden.

With only a couple days to go until Aunt Marge's visit, Aunt Petunia had gone into full preparation mode. The house looked even more sterile than it usually did. The guest room had been prepared – which meant that a number of excess items usually stored there had found their way into Harry's room. Even Dudley had to make sure all his knick-knacks – his gaming consoles, torch, boxing gloves, jumping rope, and the like – which were usually spread all over the house, were kept in his room.

Seeing the taxing preparations around him, mowing the lawn had seemed an appropriate solution: he would be out of his aunt's hair and still be doing something that would help her stress less – she could hardly object to that.

It turned out she could.

Aunt Petunia went on and on about how Harry was insinuating that he was being overworked, that he was being given unreasonable chores. She would not listen to his claims to the contrary, and instead accused him of looking for reasons so he could later lie about how he was treated at home. Harry tried to take back his offer, but the tirade continued, as his aunt explained to him just how much work she had to do, while he was only getting in the way instead of helping her—

Then Dudley decided to interfere. "I can mow the garden."

His offer was not taken at all seriously, but Aunt Petunia spent several long minutes telling him what a wonderful boy he was for willing to make such a sacrifice, no matter how much Dudley told her that he really wanted to do it, that it would be a form of exercise, that it would be fun—

Harry managed to extricate himself finally and fled to his room. Too agitated to stay there for too long, he made himself a bit more presentable and went downstairs mere minutes later. He did not manage to leave the house unobserved.

"Are you off to bother Mrs Figg again?" snarled Aunt Petunia.

Harry hesitated, unsure how to answer. Ever since Ron's phone call a couple days ago, when he had mentioned visiting his squib neighbour while his uncle was eavesdropping on his conversation with Ron, things had been worse than usual. He supposed he should not have mentioned her name, but Ron had been worried and he had wanted to reassure his friend – he had not thought through the consequences of his words. How fitting, he thought, that after finally getting Dudley to agree to proceed with caution when talking to his parents about Harry, he himself had gone and said something unwise.

Apparently, talking to a sympathetic neighbour – even an eccentric one – was far worse than talking to his classmates and their parents. No matter how he had reassured his aunt and uncle that he had not told Mrs Figg any 'lies' about how badly he was treated at home, (no matter that they did not even suspect that she had any connection to the magical world), it had been a sore – and oft visited subject – since then.

At least Uncle Vernon was not at home, Harry thought glumly, as he tried to stem the tide of Aunt Petunia's nasty suspicions and accusations thrown his way. He almost reconsidered leaving, but as soon as he turned away from the door, his aunt shrieked.

"Out! Go! Oh, I won't have you say that I'm locking you inside the house!" she shouted after him.

Harry was still shaking in suppressed rage when he reached Wisteria Walk. It was unusual for him to visit Mrs Figg that early in the day, or to visit by himself, so he turned the corner and walked to the park instead, hoping to dispel some of his anger first. The cold and wet English summer day had soon made him uncomfortable enough outside that he walked back.

Dudley met him at Mrs Figg's house, apparently having left not too long after Harry. He was watching one of the shows he followed on the television. Harry had to acknowledge the sacrifice: the boys usually never left the house that early precisely because Dudley could not stand to miss his show.

Dudley made an aborted attempt to apologise on his mother's behalf, but Harry waved him off. Mrs Figg shot him sympathetic looks and in conversation it became clear that Dudley had already told her enough that she knew the reason for Harry's current displeasure.

"I'm sorry about mentioning your name to my aunt, Mrs Figg," said Harry. He explained to her why he had told Ron of his visits to her house on the phone. She knew enough about his aunt and uncle's attempts to keep him away from Hogwarts that she understood. He assured her that he had not made the slightest suggestion to his elder relatives that she was a squib.

"Never you mind, Harry. Petunia won't think worse of me than she already does. She never had the highest opinion of me – not that that's ever bothered me before. Whatever politeness she dredged up for me was because I looked after you when no one else wanted to – mostly because of all the horror stories she keeps telling everyone about you."

"You were right, you know," said Harry drily. "My aunt and uncle really don't like me visiting you if they don't think I hate it."

Dudley was valiantly pretending to be watching the television. Harry suppressed a sigh, and let the topic go.

Mrs Figg brought out Harry's school supplies. "Here you go. I believe you still had the history of magic homework to do."

She might have been trying to distract him from his dark mood, but Harry agreed that doing his homework was probably the best thing he could do at the moment.

The history of magic homework was to write an essay about whether or not the witch burnings in the fourteenth century were completely pointless. With a fortifying breath, he dragged the heavy history book closer, looking for something he could use for his essay.

Harry was writing about a medieval witch named Wendelin the Weird and her apparent obsession with being burned, while using the flame-freezing charm, and watching Mrs Figg take pictures of her various cats, by the time Dudley's show had ended. Normally, Dudley tended to watch a few more shows that followed, if not with the same zeal. This time, he scooched over along the sofa to take a look at what Harry was writing.

"Huh. So witches and wizards were never really burned?" asked Dudley, after reading through the section of the book Harry was referencing.

"Well, maybe not never," said Harry. "I found another section, about one witch getting another caught by muggles and burned because of a fight they had." He leafed through the book to the correct entry. "So if the flame-freezing charm failed – because someone else cast a counter, for example, then the witch or wizard would actually die. Also, muggles." Harry leafed back to the entry about Wendelin. "It says here ' _on the rare occasion when they did catch a witch or a wizard_ ' – meaning, the rest of the time they probably burned muggles…"

"Or squibs," said Mrs Figg. She glanced over the shoulder, but did not put down the camera.

She was coaxing one cat after the other to pose in what she probably considered to be a particularly cute setting, on top of a flowery armchair. There were cat toys and yarn spread all over it, and the cats kept getting in each others' way, jumping in and out of it.

(This sort of behaviour no longer seemed as eccentric as it used to, now that Harry knew she bred part-kneazle cats – and that the photographs would be sent to potential buyers – though also kept lovingly in her private photo albums.)

"Squibs knew a little bit about magic, of course, and ended up saying unwise things every now and then," she added, when the boys looked at her curiously.

Harry, once again eager to have extra information that was not directly copied from his textbook, asked her for more details. With some coaxing, she managed to remember a few names and approximate dates. Then she thought to bring some muggle history books she had at home.

"I don't keep any books from the wizarding world at home, I'm afraid. But the fourteenth century was before the Statute of Secrecy," she said. "Magic wasn't hidden the way it is now, and some of it actually made it into muggle records."

With her help, Harry added a good three or four inches of text to his essay – including the popular wizarding theory that Anne Boleyn had been a squib, even if she had lived later than the fourteenth century – and was already feeling much better about the way the day had gone.

"What about muggleborns?" asked Dudley. He was still partly watching the telly, but that was not stopping him from paying attention. "Well, before they went off to Hogwarts, anyway," he added at his cousin's surprised look.

Harry was a bit stumped that he had not thought to look that up, but when he started leafing through his book, Mrs Figg interrupted him.

"Even in the Middle Ages, children weren't normally given a death sentence," she told him. "Though, yes, not every muggleborn got to go to Hogwarts, got to learn how to control their magic. Magical children weren't traced from birth back then. But I doubt that there'd be much about that in a second year book. Muggleborns being treated badly by muggles is not an easy thing to teach about to children your age. Especially when that sort of history was used recently to justify a war." She looked significantly at Harry.

"You should still write about them," said Dudley, when Harry hesitated.

Looking at his cousin's stubborn face, it began to dawn on Harry that Dudley really had been thinking a great deal about their shared upbringing, and that he would not be willing to let go of the problems he saw there as easily as Harry had thought.

~HP~

Harry did get to mow the lawn on Friday. He would have preferred to go to the park with Dudley instead, to help his cousin practice his boxing – and also improve his evasion skills, which were coming along nicely, after a month's training with Dudley. However, he supposed even this backhanded way of keeping peace at home ought to be counted as a success.

Once he was in the back garden and the lawnmower was running, he became aware of the real reason for his aunt's concession: even over the voice of the lawnmower, he could hear the sound of conversation. There were visitors in the house. Of course. Anything was better – according to Aunt Petunia – than being in Harry's company around other people.

He saw Mrs Polkiss leave the Dursley home when he went back inside. She was saying goodbye at the door with a lot of affected feeling – Harry knew she and his aunt were not close friends. In the next instant, he noticed voices drifting down from upstairs, meaning that Dudley was not the only other person in the house. It was not a difficult guess that that person was Piers. He did not get to verify this guess right away, however. His aunt suddenly needed his help with all sorts of minor chores, preventing him from going upstairs to his room – supposedly so he would not bother Dudley and his 'friend'.

Harry did wonder how the engineered visit had gone, as he watched Piers leave the house a little while later, and would have loved to ask Dudley, but that was no easy feat. It was not easy to have a conversation out of Aunt Petunia's hearing range – she was very adept at eavesdropping, having had lots of practice with the entire neighbourhood. Soon, Uncle Vernon had also returned from work, and was sharing the happy news – for some – that he had taken a vacation for the next week, so he could spend the time with his family and his visiting sister.

Uncle Vernon was happy to hear about Piers' visit: Mr Polkiss was something akin to a friend of his, and it had been the fathers' decision to send both their sons to the same school, to encourage a friendship between them from childhood. Behind his parents' backs, Dudley managed to shrug and grimace at Harry, which his cousin took to mean that he himself was not entirely sure how to feel about reconciling with Piers. Harry did not know either, but while he tried his best not to let his dislike of Dudley's childhood friends colour his opinion, he still felt a niggling worry in the back of his head.

Such thoughts had to be shelved for the moment, however, because Uncle Vernon decided to use dinnertime to have a few words with Harry about his sister's visit. He pointed a fat finger threateningly at Harry. "We need to get a few things straight before Marge gets here tomorrow."

Snarling and growling, Uncle Vernon made it clear he expected Harry to behave civilly to Aunt Marge, not to mention anything about magic, and to generally 'behave himself'.

"I will if she does," said Harry through gritted teeth. He wondered bitterly if his uncle had invited his sister on Harry's birthday on purpose, as a kind of anti-celebration.

Aunt Petunia, meanwhile, was making inane comments about the show she was watching on the television, trying to draw Dudley's interest to it.

It was nothing Harry had not expected. Even being told he would have to pretend to be attending St Brutus' Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys did not come as a surprise. But his anger must have shown through, because before he had made himself agree to it, his uncle's expression shifted to something more shrewd.

"That ruddy form of yours we're supposed to be signing—" he began.

Harry felt his heart sinking. The Grangers had brought up the permission forms for visiting Hogsmeade during their last visit, and had essentially bullied Harry's aunt and uncle into agreeing to sign them. He had doubted it would be that easy, of course, but—

"It still hasn't arrived, has it?"

"It'll be arriving any day now."

"I'll be busy hosting Marge then. And who knows, I might forget to sign it altogether. No _normal_ institution could expect me to wait around for some ruddy form – as if I have nothing better to do—"

"Yeah, Harry. You should be the one to remember – and remind Dad," supplied Dudley.

Harry had to suppress a smile, as he watched his uncle fight the urge to contradict his son, not liking that his argument had been disrupted. "Maybe if I remembered to, er, behave while Aunt Marge will be here, you might remember to sign it afterwards?" he suggested helpfully.

Uncle Vernon grew purple in the face, at having his ploy be made to look that obvious. "Don't you take that tone with me, boy."

Harry thought fast. If his uncle was willing to negotiate, he would oblige. "Well, it's a lot to remember. It'll be hard work to make it convincing. What if I accidentally let something slip?"

"You'll do no such thing! One toe out of line, and you can forget about your ruddy form!" bellowed Uncle Vernon, and Harry was pleased to hear a note of panic in his voice.

"That won't make Aunt Marge forget what I could tell her," said Harry.

Uncle Vernon opened his mouth, his face an ugly puce, but his outrage was such that his voice got stuck in his throat for a moment.

"But if you, er, remind Aunt Marge not to treat me like a criminal – which she might, because _you_ told her I go to a school for criminals, after all," Harry went on quickly, "I swear I'll remember where I'm supposed to go to school, and I'll act like a mug— like I'm normal and everything." He felt Dudley kick him lightly under the table, making it suddenly quite difficult to keep a straight face.

This was enough to draw Aunt Petunia's attention. "You ungrateful whelp! Instead of taking into account the trouble we have to go through – having to keep your secrets—"

"Exactly, Petunia!" roared Uncle Vernon. "Isn't it bad enough that I have to lie to my sister, make up believable stories to hide your _abnormality_ —"

Harry sat there, white-faced and furious, staring at Uncle Vernon. "Well, I doubt my ability to act like a _believable_ criminal," he ground out. "You might need to take my acting ability into account when making up these tales about me—"

"Why St Brutus, though?" Dudley cut across. "Wouldn't a more ordinary story have been better?"

His parents needed a moment to recover from the shock of hearing such an outlandish thought. Harry himself was no less surprised, though it had more to do with Dudley speaking up, rather than the idea he suggested.

"It just wouldn't do, Popkin," Aunt Petunia said finally. "I know it's a lot to remember, and you shouldn't have to—"

"It's as I said, son," said Uncle Vernon. "We need to make it sound believable. No one could possibly believe that _that_ boy goes to an ordinary school, and manages to act like a normal human being—"

"But Aunt Marge isn't just anyone," said Dudley, looking strangely sincere. "Shouldn't she be told something as close to the truth as possible?"

It was Harry's turn to kick his cousin – and not quite as gently. He was not sure if Dudley was actually sincerely arguing to be honest to Aunt Marge, or just defending Harry, but either seemed an unwise course of action.

"It's close enough, isn't it?" said Uncle Vernon, unable to fully dismiss his son's words. "That abnormal boy is as close to a criminal as you like. Worse, I say. What else could we possibly tell Marge – knowing, as she does, who his parents were?"

This was meant to be a rhetoric question. When Dudley nevertheless opened his mouth, Harry tried to kick him again, but Dudley had thought to pull his foot away.

"But wouldn't it have been easier to tell her Harry's parents were normal as well?" he said obstinately.

"Normal?" Uncle Vernon's voice rose precariously. "Make those abnormal people out to be normal to my sister? Really, Dudley, that would've been the biggest lie of all!"

Harry's kick landed this time, and Dudley finally stopped this line of enquiry before things really got out of hand.

~HP~

Harry was so rattled by his cousin's little scene at dinner that he had no trouble staying awake until his mirror call with Sirius. It was nearly midnight, and sitting at the foot of his bed, as far away and as hidden from the door as possible, his torch in one hand, he spoke his godfather's name into the mirror.

After the greetings, Harry, as usual, wanted to know where Sirius was.

"Inside a muggle building that is soon to be demolished," was the reply.

Through the mirror, Harry could see broken windows and lots of concrete and rubble. The glimpse he got of the space outside the building told him that Sirius was a fair bit above the ground.

"It doesn't look like London…" was Harry's best guess.

"You're right, it's not," agreed Sirius, but did not tell him any more about his location.

"Doesn't look very safe," muttered Harry. He could see iron rods sticking out from the walls. It would not surprise him if that building did not wait for the demolition crew and just collapsed.

"I'll cast some protective spells," smiled Sirius, looking unconcerned as usual.

Harry, giving up on the topic, began to recount to Sirius the events of his day. Dudley, of course, figured prominently.

"I thought he agreed not to defend you to his parents," said Sirius.

"He did…" Harry sighed. "Sort of. He agreed they'd get mad if he did. But I also told him they'd take away everything magical I've ever given him, and never let him receive another letter from me if they found out how much he's involved himself with magic, and I'm not sure he believed me."

Sirius' lip twitched. "We'd find a way around that if they did, wouldn't we?"

This drew a wan smile from his godson.

Sirius switched topics, asking about the history of magic essay, but Harry waved him off.

"Not tonight," he said. "I'll finish it after Aunt Marge has left. I'd rather chat with you while I can. I won't risk it while she's here. Ugh. No visits to Mrs Figg's, no going to the park with Dudley, no chats with you – it's going to be a long week—"

Harry jumped as he heard a shuffling noise outside of his door. With a hasty " _Finite_ " he ended the mirror call, and tried to extinguish his torch with fumbling fingers. Before he had succeeded, Dudley's head poked into his room.

"I saw the light on," he near-whispered, and shuffled in. "Were you talking to Sirius?"

"Yeah. Here, let me call him again."

The boys had agreed that meeting up at night might cause too much noise and was not worth the risk of getting caught. So Dudley had only talked to Sirius a couple of times over the summer. He waved enthusiastically as Harry renewed the mirror call.

"Oh, by the way, Harry, it's well past midnight now. So, happy birthday!" said Sirius. "You might receive a little visitor tonight. You might want to watch out for him – he can get a little overexcited—"

"A visitor? What?"

Sirius smiled. "A little owl. I'm not sure how reliable he is, but he seemed eager enough for the job—"

"But – but we said we wouldn't use owl post!"

"How else was I going to send you your present?" said Sirius reasonably. "And anyway, it's unlikely he'll get intercepted. He's not an owl either one of us has ever used before—"

"Oh, yeah. That's what I came here for as well," said Dudley, before an argument could develop. "Happy birthday! – I wanted to give you this before Aunt Marge gets here tomorrow." With that, he held out a rectangular package, inexpertly wrapped in paper and held together with adhesive tape.

Harry thanked him, before ripping apart the packaging to reveal the cover of what had obviously been a book. It was a self-defence manual, focusing on weapons defence.

"Most of it won't be that useful for you, I guess," said Dudley. "But I think you can adapt some of it. There's some stuff about balance, dodging, protecting vital organs—"

"This is awesome!" said Harry, still leafing through it, much to his cousin's satisfaction.

Reluctantly, unwilling to spoil the good mood, but still seeing the necessity for it, Harry brought up Piers' visit that day.

Dudley grimaced, agreed that the visit had been sprung on him, but also said that he was not unhappy about the development. "Piers has changed as well in the last year. He's stopped trying to bully the other boys in our year. He's joined the football club – made some friends, even."

"It could be that he's changed for the better," agreed Sirius. "The somewhat rowdy behaviour that you shared when you were friends was in many ways what connected you two back then. Then your friendship ended because of it. So, it's entirely possible that he abandoned that sort of behaviour, just as you did…"

Dudley was reassured by this, looking visibly happier. Again, Harry felt a jolt of unease, knowing his words might change that, but he steered the conversation to Dudley's discussion with his father at dinner. He wanted his cousin to hear Sirius' warning on the subject, hoping it would have more of an effect.

Dudley's face darkened, becoming obstinate. He argued back, insisting that if his parents understood magic, they would be less bothered by it, and that if Aunt Marge had not been told such awful things about Harry, she would not be treating him so badly. He was apparently unaware of the contradiction in what he was saying.

Much to Harry's surprise and worry, Sirius did not rush to make Dudley abandon this dangerous direction he was headed in. Instead, he looked thoughtful and a little sad.

"I'm not the right person to tell you not to speak your mind to your parents, Dudley," he finally said. "There are times when we feel we have to speak, when we think others are wrong and need to be told so. I just want to make sure you're not unprepared for the consequences of your actions.

"Now, my parents were far worse parents than yours – they were strict and overbearing, long before I went against their teachings, and if they held any affection for me, I never knew. So in that regard, you may be right. Your parents do love you, they do want what's best for you, and that might be enough to protect you from their anger.

"However, when it comes to their ideas about magic, your parents' and mine are the flip sides of a coin – the exact opposite, but so very similar. In my case, the more I tried to make them see how wrong they were, the more they pushed back – until I ended up running away at sixteen."

While Dudley was still asking questions, Harry heard fluttering outside of his window. Turning his head, he saw something very small and grey fly inside the open window, tumbling over itself in its haste to get to him. He caught the ball of fluff before it smashed into something, being oddly reminded of a snitch with feathers.

Sirius stopped what he had been saying and laughed quietly when Harry came back into view of the mirror. "I see he's found you."

Harry detached the tiny package the owl had been carrying, letting him loose once again. The owl immediately began zooming around his room, apparently very pleased with himself for accomplishing his task. Frowning, Harry snatched him out of the air once again, and put him on Hedwig's temporarily empty cage – for his safety, as well as to make sure he would not wake the elder Dursleys.

Harry opened the package, and out fell a miniature glass bottle with what looked like ink inside.

"I had to shrink it, or the owl wouldn't have been able to carry it," said Sirius. "So you'll have to wait until you get to Hogwarts to use it. It's charmed ink, black in colour, but any text written with it will change to red if it has been read by any unwanted third parties."

"That's great!" said Harry. "Maybe it'll let me write real letters to Dudley again."

"That's the hope," said Sirius. "It's not unfailingly reliable – nothing is. But it's pretty good, if I say so myself. If the ink of your letters stays black for some time, then you might be able to share some useful information again in your letters."

Before Harry was done thanking him, Dudley pointed to the window, and then the boys watched the bizarre display of Hedwig and a Hogwarts owl dragging Errol through Harry's window, carrying more presents from his friends and Hagrid, as well as the first birthday cards he had ever received.

It was past one o'clock in the morning by the time Harry said goodnight to Dudley and Sirius, and packed up their presents, together with the pocket sneakoscope from Ron, the broomstick servicing kit from Hermione, _The Monster Book of Monsters_ from Hagrid, their accompanying letters, his new Hogwarts letter and the birthday cards from Hermione and Ron, and hid them all away with all his other items from the magical world under the loose floorboard in his room. For the following week, the only magical item he would be keeping around would be his wand.

Despite the impending visit from Aunt Marge in the morning, Harry let himself be happy for the night that it was his birthday.

~HP~

Harry waited until after breakfast before he sent the owls in his room away. The Hogwarts owl had not stayed the night, but the other three were sleeping too comfortably to wake any earlier. Hedwig looked rather unimpressed at the hyperactive little owl Sirius had found, and soon her eyes turned reproachful as Harry asked her to go along with Errol for the week.

Harry did not have long to brood after that. Aunt Petunia was shrieking up the stairs for him to go downstairs to greet their guest. He was made to open the door for Aunt Marge, as she followed Dudley inside, carrying an enormous suitcase and an old, ill-tempered bulldog.

Dudley, who had opted to go along with his father to the train station, was sporting a bow-tie, courtesy of his mother, and looked like he had just overcome a big hurdle – Aunt Marge's hugs could certainly classified as such, well-paid though they usually were.

It was with great foreboding that Harry dragged Aunt Marge's heavy suitcase up the stairs, after she had thrust it into his stomach, trying to take as much time as he could.

The days that followed were as difficult as Harry had known they would be. Aunt Marge loved to criticise him, and also wanted to constantly keep an eye on him, to boom out suggestions for his improvement – as opposed to Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon, who preferred to have him stay out of their way. She also enjoyed comparing Harry with Dudley and pointing out his perceived shortcomings.

Uncle Vernon had taken his deal with Harry somewhat seriously, it seemed, because whenever he could, he tried to redirect his sister's attention away from Harry when her comments began to sound awful enough that even he noticed.

Dudley did his best to help as well. Instead of disappearing to his room and playing computer games, as Harry knew he was itching to do, he made an effort to stay downstairs – often with the pretext of doing his summer homework, so he would not actually have to spend too much time talking to his aunt. He mostly made sure to draw his aunt's attention away from Harry when it became necessary.

It was mostly working.

There was a little hiccup during lunch a couple days after Aunt Marge's arrival. She was indulging in one of her favourite ways of baiting Harry – throwing out dark hints about what made him such a supposedly unsatisfactory person.

"You mustn't blame yourself for the way the boy's turned out, Vernon," she said. "If there's something rotten on the inside, there's nothing anyone can do about it."

Harry let this pass over him, willing himself not to rise to the bait.

She reached for her wineglass. "It's one of the basic rules of breeding," she went on. "You see it all the time with dogs. If there's something wrong with the bitch, there'll be something wrong with the pup—"

This time, Harry did lose control and made the glass explode in her hand. Aunt Marge blamed her brutish grip, but Harry was rattled by his use of accidental magic. He escaped from the dinner table soon after, foregoing dessert. His aunt and uncle's suspicious eyes followed him out, as well as Dudley's sympathetic ones.

This incident was the exception, however. He got through the next few days with Dudley's help, who valiantly kept up with his studying in the living room. Harry suspected he had done more school work in that week than he ever did even during school times. Dudley even ignored his aunt's comments about overworking himself, spending too much time indoors, or being underfed (his double chin – an improvement over the triple chin he used to have the year before – apparently qualified him for that).

At last, the final evening of Aunt Marge's stay arrived. They managed to get through the fancy dinner Aunt Petunia had prepared – and several bottles of wine – without any negative comments about Harry. Uncle Vernon was keeping the conversation going, which meant that everyone else got to listen to his boring talk about Grunnings. Then Aunt Petunia made coffee and Uncle Vernon brought out the brandy.

Aunt Marge was already very flushed from all the wine she had drunk, but still went for a generous portion of brandy.

Harry knew it would be wise for him to leave at that point, but his uncle seemed to have forgotten his deal, and caught Harry's eye, making it clear that he expected his nephew to stick around.

Aunt Marge began urging Dudley to have a third slice of pie, so he would grow up into a "proper-sized man," like his father. Then her eyes settled on Harry.

"Now this one here – this one's got a mean, runty look about him. You get that with dogs. I had Colonel Fubster drown one last year. Ratty little thing it was. Weak. Underbred."

She said this while petting Ripper, her old bulldog, sat in a chair next to her, and slobbering from a bowl placed on the table – much to Aunt Petunia's displeasure.

Harry's thoughts immediately went to Padfoot, and how Ripper would look like a runt next to him. "Depends on the dog breed, doesn't it? What might be considered a runt," he answered back.

Only once the words had left his mouth, and he saw his uncle's face darken, did he realise the other interpretation of his words: Dudley was only 'proper-sized' compared to his overweight father. Shooting an apologetic look at his cousin, he was met with a barely suppressed smirk on Dudley's face, his eyes drawn to Ripper as well. Clearly, the blond boy had understood the comment the way Harry had meant it.

Aunt Marge's face had impossibly reddened even more. This was the moment Uncle Vernon should have insisted Harry go back to his room, should have remembered his agreement to keep his sister in check—

"You insolent boy!" he snarled at Harry instead. "Here, have more brandy, Marge."

Aunt Marge's tiny bloodshot eyes fixed on Harry's. "You want to defend your breeding, boy? That bad blood of yours – that's what it all comes down to, as I was saying the other day. Now, I'm saying nothing against your family, Petunia—" She patted Aunt Petunia's bony hand with her shovel-like one. "But your sister was a bad egg. They turn up in the best families. Then she ran off with a wastrel and here's the result right in front of us."

This was too much for Harry. It was too soon after finding out that his mother had died to save him, knowing well in advance that Voldemort would come after him. Her death – her _blood_ – still protected him. Had he not told so to Riddle's memory a mere few weeks ago?

"Yes, Aunt Petunia, what did you think of my mum's blood?" he ground out, and had the satisfaction of watching her flinch. He held her gaze, until she could no longer bear it and looked away. His aunt, he thought. His mother's sister, who had told him his mother had died in a car crash, knowing full well that she had been killed—

This time, Uncle Vernon had noticed that things were getting out of hand. "You, boy," he snarled at Harry. "Go to bed, go on—"

"No, Vernon," hiccuped Aunt Marge, holding up a hand. "Let the boy go on. Proud of his parents, is he? What was there to be proud of, I wonder? You never told me what that Potter did."

"He – didn't work," said Uncle Vernon, with half a glance at Harry. "Unemployed."

"As I expected!" said Aunt Marge, taking a huge swig of brandy and wiping her chin on her sleeve. "A no-account, good-for-nothing, lazy scrounger who—"

"He was not," said Dudley suddenly. The table went very quiet, as all eyes turned to him.

Harry felt instantly alarmed. Him defending his parents was one thing. His uncle might get mad at him, might not sign his permission form, might try to lock him up again. But Dudley speaking up—

"He was working – in secret – for the government," Dudley spoke again before Harry could think of something to say. "Both of Harry's parents were—"

"Dudders, what a tale you're spinning," Aunt Marge tried to laugh it off.

"It's the truth," he went on. This was well-known territory for him – he had had lots of practice explaining Harry's situation to Artie, after all. He needed no time to think of what to say. "Two years ago, we met some of the people they worked with. They still think of them as heroes for their sacrifice—"

"Dudley!" Uncle Vernon finally roared, his voice so panic-stricken that it had the exact opposite effect from the one intended.

Aunt Marge suddenly looked a lot more sober than she had a moment ago, taking in the ashen faces of her brother and his wife, and the quietly determined, stubborn expression on Dudley's face.

An awful, tense silence fell after that, until Uncle Vernon finally found his voice again, and directed Harry to go to his room. Dudley got up as well, and followed after him. No one stopped him. The boys did not dare to speak to each other, only exchanged worried, apologetic looks, before disappearing into their respective rooms.

In the solitude of his room, Harry spent many hours awake, worried about what would happen. He blamed himself – for not discouraging Dudley, on the one hand. On the other hand, he wondered if his cousin would have felt compelled to speak, had Harry not told him about the prophecy.

He had not said much, had downplayed it as much as he could, insisting that things like prophecies were commonplace in the magical world, that most people did not much care about them. But he had felt the need to say enough to explain his parents' sacrifice – who had known that Voldemort wanted him dead, but had still wanted him, had chosen to keep him, to protect him – ultimately with their lives.

And Dudley, knowing this, had understood that Harry could not let Aunt Marge's words go unchallenged.

~HP~

The next morning, the adults acted as if the conversation at dinner had not happened. The boys followed their lead, surprised, but feeling relieved at the reprieve. Uncle Vernon took Aunt Marge to the train station after breakfast, and Aunt Petunia decided she had some errands to run and wanted to go along. She told Dudley she would be back soon, without much explanation, and the boys were left alone at home.

Harry had a bad feeling about the situation, and told Dudley so, as soon as the adults were gone.

"They didn't seem so mad this morning," said Dudley, sounding quite nervous. His bravery of the night before was nowhere in sight. "Maybe it won't be such a big deal. Aunt Marge has left—"

"Dudley," sighed Harry. He considered how to tell his cousin to be realistic. "I'm sorry you got involved in this," was all he could say.

"I had to say something. Your parents don't deserve to be thought of as useless drunks."

"Thank you. I just wish you had let me defend them, instead of speaking yourself—"

This time, it was Dudley's turn to know better. "Aunt Marge would never have believed you," he snorted. "But I do think he believed me – somewhat. Mum and Dad will have to modify some of their stories about you now." He looked incredibly nervous at the thought – at the fallout that might follow, but also very proud of himself.

Swallowing a lump, Harry did his best to tell Dudley how grateful he was.

After his talk with his cousin, Harry did not waste any time. He packed his trunk, to make sure all his items were in one place, glad to have many of his school supplies safely at Mrs Figg's house. He just knew that his aunt and uncle would find a way to blame the whole episode on him – in fact, he hoped so, for Dudley's sake. He was trying to prepare for whatever punishment they might devise – glad that they were not aware that neither of his friends were currently in the country. But that still left Mrs Figg—

Harry was still fussing around in his room when he heard the door slam, followed by Aunt Petunia calling for Dudley to come down the stairs.

"Boy! Get down here," Uncle Vernon bellowed a moment later.

Harry made sure to follow a little distance behind Dudley, so as not to create the impression that they were somehow conspiring together. He need not have bothered.

There was no trace of the supposed calm of that morning left. Aunt Petunia looked like she had been told some dreadful news, and Uncle Vernon was positively vibrating from anger.

"We should've known – letting one in the house…" he was muttering.

Aunt Petunia went to hug her son, tears in her eyes, much to Dudley's bewilderment. "I know, Popkin. None of this is your fault," she said.

"Was to be expected, wasn't it," said Uncle Vernon, his fists flexing.

"Oh, I'd noticed that you weren't well, Dudders. For some time now, you've been losing weight, losing friends – Oh!" She gave a little sob. "But I kept hoping it was just growing pains."

"Mum, what—" Dudley, looking bewildered, tried to extricate himself.

Harry pressed himself against the wall, trying to blend in with it. He had a horrible feeling he knew where this was going.

"Oh, Dudley!" sobbed Aunt Petunia again. "I went to see the Polkisses this morning. I asked Piers if he knew what had happened to you, and oh – oh—"

"He told us," growled Uncle Vernon. "Told us how you first drifted apart last summer because you _suddenly_ became that _boy's_ personal bodyguard! Told us how you've been _inseparable_ since then!" His eyes slowly drifted over to Harry. " _You! What have you done to Dudley!_ "


	5. Chapter 5

Uncle Vernon was accusing him of magically influencing Dudley, Harry realised. Of course. If Dudley could do no wrong, then anything he did that his parents did not like must be Harry's fault. It was a laughable thought – little though Harry felt like laughing, cornered as he was by his aunt and uncle, right there in the entrance, in front of the staircase, with the cupboard under the stairs behind his back.

"What?" said Dudley. He finally stepped away from his mother's embrace. "You don't think Harry hexed me!"

This caused the adult Dursleys a momentary halt. It was not every day that Dudley used magical terms – they were forbidden in the household, after all.

Harry drew his wand as if to display it. He regarded it as if considering the things it could do. "I haven't done anything bad to Dudley – whatever you're imagining. If nothing else, you know I'm not allowed to use magic outside of school."

"You – put that thing away!" roared Uncle Vernon. "And tell me right now what you did to my son!"

"I told you, I haven't used any spells on Dudley," said Harry, exasperated by the lack of sense his uncle was showing.

"Of course he hasn't!" said Dudley. "Just because I said some things you don't like doesn't mean I'm not myself!"

"Oh, Dudley," sobbed Aunt Petunia. "You wouldn't even know it, Popkin. Those awful people can do some horrible things—"

"Not like that. I'd be confused, I'd have gaps in my memory – Come on, Mum. You should know this!"

The tension rose at his words. Harry was not sure if his cousin realised what he had just admitted to, confidently claiming understanding of how magic worked.

"You – Dudley—" Uncle Vernon's gaze shifted from his son to his nephew. He took a menacing step towards Harry, stopping at the sight of the wand pointed at him. "I told you to put that away! You can't use it on me – you're not allowed—"

"So which one is it, then?" asked Harry. "Can I or can't I use magic? Because if you agree that I can't, then there's no spell on Dudley." The goading was in part on purpose, to take attention away from Dudley. It did not work.

"But – Dudders, what are you talking about?" asked Aunt Petunia, her face contorted into a grimace, real fear creeping in under her theatrics.

"You don't really think I'm under some spell." Dudley, seeming unaware of the change in his mother, was becoming exasperated. "Magic doesn't work that way, you should know that. You'd need some very advanced magic to influence someone in that way – not something a kid like Harry could do – and even then, you'd be able to tell something was off if you knew what to look for—"

"But, Dudley – how do you know that?" Aunt Petunia's voice was much quieter than before, but rang through the silence that had fallen.

Harry considered how to distract his cousin, to stop him from saying anything more incriminating. He found, however, that a large part of him did not want to. During all the times in the past days when he had been arguing against Dudley standing up to his parents he had felt an ever stronger urge to do the exact opposite. His cousin defending him openly would be a kind of vindication for him, that he wished for against all common sense.

Dudley was not thinking of stopping at all. "How do I know? What, and you don't? Especially after this year? Bringing up something like a possession – it's only been a few weeks—"

"How – how do you—" gasped Aunt Petunia.

"Well, not from you!" Dudley almost shouted. "You never bothered to tell me – this year or last year! Harry could've been killed, he was put in the hospital wing—"

"What did you – what have you been telling him!" thundered Uncle Vernon, turning to Harry.

"What? Wasn't I supposed to tell him about my time at – at my school?" Harry said coolly, but still remembered not to say Hogwarts – he would not antagonise his aunt and uncle unnecessarily.

He would not be the one to mention his correspondence with Dudley. His cousin could go along with him pretending that Harry had merely told him something over the summer. Dudley had already said a whole slew of things to panic his parents. Harry would not add to that, even though a large part of him now wished to reveal everything, not to hold back, to cause a fireworks display of epic proportions – and worry about the consequences later.

"You – told him – what—" Uncle Vernon, aware of his incoherence, closed his mouth, and then turned to his son. "What has he been telling you?"

Dudley began with the petrified students, then moved on to the possessed teachers. His voice rose, accusing, angry, defiant – a far cry from the usual petulant tantrums that he resorted to when he wanted to get his way with his parents. "He was in the hospital wing for days last year! They can regrow bones in _hours_ – and he was there for days. Someone tried to _kill him_. And you didn't say a word of it!"

Aunt Petunia visibly cringed at hearing this, and turned her face away from her son.

Her husband was less troubled by anything resembling guilt. "When did you tell him all of this?" This was directed at Harry again.

"I wanted to know more about magic!" burst out Dudley, not letting his cousin answer. "What? Did you think I wouldn't?"

Then he told them. He was angry, angrier than his parents, and not at all interested in backing down. Dudley had never in his life been intimidated by his parents – much less frightened. He had never had any reason to. So the more agitated their retorts became, the louder he shouted back.

Without saying that it had actually been Harry who began their correspondence, Dudley told his parents of the letter writing, of his acknowledgement of having been a bully, of being eager about learning more about the magical world, and receiving gifts from Harry – unable to stop, unable to see how far the situation had deteriorated, only hearing his parents' voices getting louder, and matching them—

There is a certain joy in revealing a winning hand – especially when your opponent was convinced you were bluffing. Harry watched the horror dawn on the elder Dursleys' faces, as their well-constructed world began to crumble before their eyes, and felt an unexpected sense of relief, of vindication – of happiness, even. There would be no more hiding of his involvement in Dudley's life, no more sneaking around, pretending to loathe each other.

"Oh, how stupidly naive you've been!" Aunt Petunia exclaimed to Dudley, as the argument migrated upstairs.

Uncle Vernon rampaged through his son's room, upending every corner, looking for every item Dudley had mentioned. Having admitted to their existence, Dudley could hardly refuse to say where they were. Soon enough, Harry's letters were strewn across the corridor, followed by a couple moving photographs, the booklet Harry had given Dudley for Christmas in his first year at Hogwarts, and the quidditch poster showing the national team playing that he had sent the following Christmas.

Harry stepped past them, careful not to trample them underfoot, as he approached his cousin's room. He did not enter, but stopped as soon as he could see all three of the Dursleys, himself still a little out of sight.

"Is this it?" Uncle Vernon was bellowing. "Are you that stupid, Dudley? That easily taken in? Was that all it took to fool you?"

"Some shiny trinkets, a few stories – and for that you'd speak to us this way?" Aunt Petunia spoke with a deeply hurt voice, the tears once again close to the surface.

"You gullible fool!" bellowed Uncle Vernon. "For this riff-raff you've become that freak's personal bodyguard? Betraying your friends—"

"I'm not his bodyguard! I'm just not a bully any more!" Dudley shouted back, arguing back as well he could.

And as he did, as he tried in vain to get his parents to see that he was not being manipulated – with or without magic – but had rather chosen to change, had improved, something changed in him. With no small amount of astonishment, Harry watched as Dudley of the Crocodile Tears – who had for years now been able to manipulate his parents into giving him whatever he wanted by screwing up his face – who had not shed a real tear as long as Harry could remember – reached the limits of his sway with his parents. As he felt his arguments failing, as he saw himself losing, Dudley's breath hitched, his eyes grew red, his words faltered as he tried to control his voice.

His parents, who had up to that point never failed to indulge him, seemed to be unaware of the misery they were causing Dudley.

Harry, knowing that he caused his aunt and uncle anger by just existing, had remained in the background, so as not to exacerbate the situation further. At that point, though, he decided things had gone far enough out of hand and enough was enough. Some invisible line had been crossed as he watched Dudley fight back tears and he felt his own anger rise up in him.

"So now you're saying I manipulated Dudley without magic. I didn't. I simply decided to be fair. You hadn't been any more honest with him than you'd been with me. So after we'd both found out together what made me such a – supposedly – unsatisfactory person, I thought it'd be worth a try to have a fresh start—"

"You liar!" screamed Aunt Petunia. "Deceiving our poor, soft-hearted boy – taking advantage of his goodwill—"

"No, he didn't!" shouted Dudley. "He was nice when he didn't have any reason to be. He could've – should've – resented me. Instead, he gave me another chance—"

This led to more wailing from Aunt Petunia, and more sputtered indignation from her husband.

"Son, wake up!" implored Uncle Vernon. "You think he had no reason to manipulate you? He's made you abandon your friends, made you turn against them, so you'd defend him! He's convinced you to make up vile lies to your own aunt – again to defend him! How can you defend someone so undeserving? Don't you see how you're being taken advantage of?"

Harry felt a twinge of doubt at his uncle's words. His cousin might believe some of that. Uncle Vernon's attitude of getting one's money's worth had been taught to Dudley from infancy, after all. In all fairness, Harry had benefited more from their friendship than had Dudley—

His cousin was first to speak again, and if Harry had believed he had not been holding back until then, he found himself proven wrong. This time, Dudley really did turn against his parents, and told them in no uncertain terms that he believed them to be wrong about Harry, about his parents, about magic. That he had told Aunt Marge the closest thing to the truth as he saw it. That he was not being taken advantage of, but had instead been the one to benefit more from his friendship with Harry, because it had helped him to see that he himself was not so great. But he had improved, with Harry's help he had become a better person, he was becoming someone he could like—

The more he spoke – shouted, in fact – the more Harry felt ashamed for having doubted him. "You're forgetting brave, Dudley," he added to the enumeration of his cousin's improvements. This was one of the highest praises he could give. "You're not afraid of magic, of standing up to a whole gang of b-boys—" He suppressed the word bullies – it no longer really applied to Dudley's former group of friends. "—or anybody else." Harry did not look directly at his aunt and uncle, but they could hardly have remained unaware that he meant them.

His words created a pause, as everyone finally took notice of how Dudley had been backed into a corner – physically as well. The mention of bullies in association with them made Dudley's parents finally hesitate.

Uncle Vernon stopped shouting back about bullies being a modern wishy-washy nonsense designed to make weaklings feel better. He stopped talking about the natural order of things, about the 'true' use of the Smeltings sticks, about Dudley being taken advantage of by freaks like Harry and weaklings like Artie.

And Harry finally noticed the shifting expression on his aunt's face. She looked shaken, her lips drawn into an ugly twist, her face both devoid of colour and filled with red splotches. She was on the verge of trembling.

"Just like my parents," she near whispered. "My son, taken in by those freaks. You like them, do you? Admire their freakishness?" Her voice was strained, and far more quiet than before, her words directed at her son imploring. "Do you think they'll return the favour? Like you in turn? You'll never be like them – and that's all that matters to them—"

Aunt Petunia stood in the shambles of her attempt to pay her sister back for having magic, while she did not. Her son had turned on her, taken Harry's side, after all her attempts to give him all she denied Harry. She was bound to be seeing it as a kind of retribution brought on by her sister's son. Despite how upset she looked, however, Harry could not quite bring himself to feel sorry for her.

"I like Dudley just fine, actually," he said coolly.

"I'm not trying to be like them!" Dudley said at the same time. "Weren't you listening? I like how I am now – I like who I'm becoming. And anyway, you're wrong about them. They were mostly all nice enough to me – just that one awful Malfoy boy—"

"What?" Aunt Petunia forced past her trembling lips. "When did you—"

"When I visited Harry at Hogwarts – after he got so badly hurt last year. Did you even read the letters his school sent? Did you know about the possessed teachers? About the snake monster—"

"You – you went to – to that school—" Aunt Petunia broke off in disbelief. "They let you in—"

"Of course they did! Harry was seriously hurt! Actually, all of his classmates were surprised that you hadn't turned up. I didn't know what to tell them—"

"Snake monsters!" said Uncle Vernon. "Possessed teachers, you say? Hang on. And you – you went to that place?" His eyes darted to Dudley, bulging out of his head. "No, no, no. This has gone on for long enough. Far too long, come to think of it!

"All this abnormality we've been forced to suffer for years! Owls and their droppings, Dudley's tail, that flying Ford Anglia, and what have you! And now, to top it all off, he's – he's completely brainwashed our poor, gullible son! How he could've been deceived so easily – but we've raised him too soft, Petunia. And Marge – what she must think of us, after all that nonsense she had to hear—

"You!" he stalked towards Harry, his shirt front straining as he inflated himself. "All your fault! Then threatening me with that thing—" he nodded towards Harry's wand, still in his hand, "—in my own home! I really have had it with you! I don't know why we've been putting up with you for so long. Marge was right – we should've taken you to an orphanage right away—"

"What?" Harry finally said.

Was his uncle threatening to throw him out? He had been preparing for Uncle Vernon to devise new and creative punishments for him, ready to risk using magic if things got really out of hand, but mostly preparing to negotiate the punishment, or find ways to work around it – without Dudley's help, if necessary, to take attention away from his cousin. But being thrown out? Especially when both his friends were out of the country?

"You heard me," Uncle Vernon went on, not as loudly, but with a vicious, malevolent spark in his eyes. "You've more than overstayed your welcome, boy—"

"What?" said Dudley as well, quickly looking outraged. "No – you can't—"

"Wait," came Aunt Petunia's faint voice. "The boy – the boy has to stay, Vernon," she said weakly.

Her husband stared at her uncomprehendingly, but she would not look at him – at any of them. Her hands were trembling, Harry noticed, and she had grown very white-faced. It was a far cry from her affected crying from not so long ago.

"W-what?" said Uncle Vernon. "But – but Petunia, he…"

"If we throw him out, the neighbours will talk," she said after she had regained some control. "They'll ask awkward questions, they'll want to know where he's gone. Mrs Figg by now probably thinks the world of him." A note of her usual waspishness had returned. "We'll have to keep him."

Uncle Vernon deflated like an old tire. He tried to argue some more, but to Harry's surprise, his aunt refused to budge.

~HP~

The hours that followed the fight had a surreal feel to them. A part of Harry was elated, despite hiding out in his room, trying to attract as little attention as possible. Once the dust had settled (as impossible a state of things as that seemed at the moment – but surely they must get there eventually), he would be able to talk to Dudley – really talk to him – regardless of whether his parents could hear or not.

The reality of the situation was turning out to be somewhat lacking compared to the glorious victory either of the boys had perhaps wished for. Harry spent the next three days alone in his bedroom, with only a timely returned Hedwig for company. Three times a day, Dudley brought him something to eat – usually following another bout of shouting that reached Harry's hearing from downstairs. Being in the company of his aunt and uncle was impossible – they immediately resorted to saying the most hurtful things to Harry they could think of – especially about his parents. Not wanting to let such comments slide, but also not wanting to make the situation worse for Dudley, who invariably responded in his stead, meant that Harry himself preferred to keep to his room.

Harry suspected Dudley had it worse, based on the frequent shouting he could hear throughout the house. He had no idea how to help, though. As far as he could tell, the more he stayed out of the way, the calmer the situation seemed to become. Talking with each other – the most important improvement Harry had hoped to achieve following the fight – turned out to have become more difficult, rather than less. Dudley's parents were keeping a close eye on their son, to the point where Harry could expect to see either or both of them at his door if Dudley lingered too long when bringing his food.

Then there was the snooping. After the fight, Dudley tried to collect his possessions strewn across the floor. Harry could hear him shuffling in the corridor from inside his room. Dudley did not get very far. Aunt Petunia had followed him up and confiscated the letters Harry had sent to him. Dudley had to argue quite a bit to be able to keep the few other items.

He wondered what his aunt would make of the letters, if she would actually read them, and if so, what she might think of the contents. It made him angry, though he tried to tell himself it was no big deal. He had never actually tried to manipulate Dudley. There was nothing incriminating in those letters. They were simply private.

He wondered at his aunt's response to the whole situation, actually. She had refused to throw him out. It was not much. He was barely thirteen, a homeless orphan, and as she said, the neighbours would have noticed. And yet. Uncle Vernon did not care even that much. Despite everything, it was a sobering thought. With his magic, and with the help of his friends, he had thought to have acquired a fair amount of control over his family situation, but there was one awful thing they could still do, and he had failed to consider it before. They could decide to rid themselves of him. In fact, it was only because Aunt Petunia apparently possessed that tiny shred of decency that it had not already happened.

There had been something more to his aunt's reaction, Harry suspected. Some of what Dudley had told her had really shaken her, but it remained a mystery to him why exactly. Some of what she had said – that magical people would never like Dudley because he was not like them, for example – had sounded – odd. Like there might be a story behind. Had someone at some point told her as much? For the first time since he could remember, it had dawned on him that Aunt Petunia really was his mother's sister. It almost made Harry wish he had the sort of relationship with her that he could ask her such things.

Such thoughts had no place in the situation at hand. He was kept under constant supervision, while at the same time he was made to keep away from the rest of the family as much as possible. His door was kept locked from the outside every night, and it was only due to Dudley arguing on his behalf that the same was not happening during the day as well. Harry had heard parts of the loud argument, with lots of mentions of Mrs Figg, even though it had taken place downstairs. During the day, Aunt Petunia made sure to come upstairs often enough to make sure that Harry was staying in his room – and away from Dudley.

Worse even, Dudley was not the only one whose possessions were being pried into. Harry had discovered it on the very first day, when he had gone on a bathroom break, only to find Dudley and Uncle Vernon arguing in his doorway on his return, his cousin keeping his father from searching the room for supposedly incriminating things. With some trepidation, Harry had allowed his uncle to look through his trunk – all his more private possessions were hidden under the floorboard, after all. He had hoped this would satisfy his uncle, but he had been too optimistic. The snooping attempts during the bathroom breaks continued, with Dudley valiantly trying to stop them.

The worst thing was that Harry could no longer talk to Sirius. That first night, he had stayed up far longer than he ever had before, well aware that his godfather would be waiting for a call, worried about the delay, but unwilling to take any chances. He had been right to worry. His aunt made an attempt to search his room again, armed with a torch, and only left after Harry coldly asked her what she was looking for in his trunk. Since then, Hedwig had been forced to stay in his room at night, to act as a replacement guard dog and wake him up if there was an intruder.

Harry had only made a single call to Sirius. It had been that first night, and it had been so late that the sky had already begun to lighten. Harry had explained the barest minimum to his worried godfather – who had not only still been awake, but had also been travelling towards Surrey, to discover what had happened to his godson. Aware of every noise he was making, Harry had hastily put the mirror back under the loose floorboard, and had not touched the floorboard since then.

Harry soon had to admit that he could not keep living that way.

A few days later, when Uncle Vernon was at work and Aunt Petunia was talking on the phone, he went to Dudley's room. "I'm thinking maybe things will get better if I leave," he said. "What do you think?"

"What? Leave?" Dudley did his best to keep his voice low, despite the shock. "No, Harry, you can't run away! That's crazy! I know my parents are being insane again, but Mum won't throw you out, I promise—"

"Yes, I know. And I don't mean running away. I mean, I could leave for a few days until Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia have calmed down somewhat—"

"But Ron and Hermione – they haven't come back yet, have they?"

"No…" sighed Harry. "But they won't be back until the last week of August… I don't think I should stay here until then. I was thinking of going to the Leaky Cauldron. I could take the Knight Bus – remember when we went to London last December?"

That was such a fond memory for both boys that they felt warmed by just remembering it.

"Yeah, that sounds alright…" said Dudley, with a fair amount of longing.

"Unless you think that will make things worse for you," Harry added hastily. "I can stay here a few more days, it's not that big a deal, the summer holidays will be over in no time. But I thought, maybe—"

"Yeah." Dudley nodded. "I agree. My parents will calm down much faster without you around." He looked guilty when saying that. "But London is so far away. You shouldn't have to go. I can talk to them, I can—"

"No, no," Harry interrupted hastily. He could hear Aunt Petunia's voice becoming louder and faster, intermixed with staged laughter, as it did when she was trying to extricate herself from a conversation. Of course. As soon as she had heard voices, she wanted to cut her phone call short, so she could come and investigate. "But, listen. If you want to come along as well, we could go together."

Dudley hesitated for a long moment – until they heard Aunt Petunia's footsteps coming their way. He was clearly tempted, but then he deflated. "No, that won't do. My parents would have a fit. If we want them to calm down, I better stay…"

Harry slunk back to his room under the disapproving glare of his aunt, who had materialised on the staircase landing a moment later.

Harry spent the next several hours in anticipation. He waited for his uncle's return home, all his possessions packed and ready for departure. To make travel easier, he let Hedwig out of her cage – for the first time in days – and asked her to meet him at the Leaky Cauldron. Then he went to face his aunt and uncle.

The negotiation was easy – his aunt and uncle were perfectly satisfied with his explanation that he wanted to do his school shopping early, and would be staying afterwards to meet up with friends. Not unexpectedly, they had no objections to being rid of him. The only point that Uncle Vernon wanted clarified was how Harry intended to pay for the Knight Bus. With a sigh, Harry produced the coins. If one did not know that sickles were made of real silver, one could easily believe that the few coins in Harry's palm were very little money. After looking them over shrewdly, and having to admit that the money would be useless in the muggle world, Uncle Vernon let it go. Harry once again vowed never to reveal the existence of his vault in Gringotts to him.

The only other concern they had was that Harry not be seen, so he had to wait until it was dark, and most of their neighbours had gone to sleep, before he could leave. He explained that the Knight bus avoided nearby muggles, to forestall them following him, but there was no need. His aunt and uncle could not be bothered to see him to the door, much less follow him outside.

Dudley saw him to the door, dragging his broom and Hedwig's cage along, while Harry carried his trunk. At the door, Dudley loudly told him that he would wait for Harry's phone call, letting him know that his journey had gone well. Partly as thanks, and partly to annoy his aunt and uncle, who were valiantly pretending to be watching the television and not him, Harry gave Dudley a one-armed hug at the door before saying goodbye.

Harry went to Mrs Figg's house first. Some of his school supplies were still there, and of course he could not have gone earlier during the day. So he was forced to drop by at the late hour, with all his luggage in tow. She was thankfully still awake, and happy to help. She had been worried about him, she told him, having expected him to visit again after the week of Aunt Marge's visit was up. He had to explain some of what had happened, much to his embarrassment.

Back on the street, with all his possessions collected, Harry was readying himself to flag down the Knight Bus, when a funny prickling on the back of his neck made him feel he was being watched, but the street appeared to be deserted, and few lights shone from the large square houses around him. Carefully, he looked around, debating whether or not to risk lighting his wand. He sensed rather than heard it: someone or something was standing in the narrow gap between the garage and the fence behind him. Harry squinted at the dark alleyway.

As he raised his wand in front of him, readying himself for he knew not what, the hulking outline of something very big slowly stepped out of the shadows. With a lurching heart, Harry recognised Padfoot. He rushed over, not bothering to drag his trunk along.

"What are you doing here?" he hissed as loudly as he dared, as Padfoot transformed in front of his eyes.

"What am I doing here? What about you? Where else would I be, after the last time we talked! You barely spoke two sentences, and haven't called since then! I've been watching your house for days now, and I was about ready to break in—"

The worry in Sirius' voice was too much. After the week Harry had had, there was nothing to be done but throw his arms around his godfather. A part of him might have felt like berating Sirius for being so close by, for the risk he had taken, but a much larger part was simply glad to have another person – an adult – care about his whereabouts. Sirius looked surprised and no less worried after the hug.

"I was fine, it wasn't like that," said Harry, and then explained what had happened as quickly as he could.

Sirius reluctantly nodded after listening to his plans. "Alright. The Knight Bus is not the worst idea, though I have to say it's becoming a dangerous habit of yours."

"Well, you keep turning up whenever I'm about to take the bus," said Harry.

After Sirius had thought to caution him about all the dangers he could think of, they reluctantly parted ways. Harry watched Padfoot run away, wishing he could have gone along to London. But of course Sirius was known to be an animagus, and an unusual animal around Harry was bound to attract attention. Harry jogged back to his trunk and flagged down the bus.

There were bedsteads instead of seats in the bus at this time of the night, he discovered to his surprise. A much less pleasant surprise was to see his godfather's face staring back at him from the cover of a copy of the _Daily Prophet_.

"Scary-lookin' fing, inee, Neville?" said Stan, the conductor, who had been watching Harry read.

"Who, Black?" said Harry with affected indifference. "Last year, at Hogwarts, all the talk was about Pettigrew, actually. He was the one who fought the professors."

"The sidekick? 'E ain't got nuffink on Black! Fightin' teachers! Black killed firteen people with one curse – in front of witnesses an' all—"

"Twelve!" shouted Ernie Prang, the driver. "Pettigrew's still alive."

Harry almost rolled his eyes at their sheer wrongness. He tried again. "Why, though? Why is Black a bigger deal? Why do you think Pettigrew is the sidekick?"

Stan swivelled in his armchair next to the driver's, his hands on the back, the better to look at Harry. "Black woz a big supporter of You-Know-'Oo," he said.

"And you think Pettigrew wasn't?"

"Black woz very close to You-Know-'Oo, they say… I 'eard he thought 'e'd be second-in-command once You-Know-'Oo 'ad taken over," Stan explained grandly, happy to impart such important 'knowledge' to Harry – or Neville Longbottom, as he believed him to be. Then he proceeded to give an exaggerated – and factually incorrect – description of how Sirius had supposedly killed those twelve people.

Harry debated trying to argue some more, but then gave up, deciding it would be pointless.

Finally, they reached Diagon Alley and the bus halted in front of the small and shabby looking Leaky Cauldron. Harry thanked the driver and helped Stan lower his trunk onto the ground. He said goodbye, but Stan was not listening. Instead, he was goggling at the shadowy entrance to the pub.

"There you are, Harry," said a familiar voice.

Before Harry could turn, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

At the same time, Stan shouted, "Blimey! Ern, come 'ere! Come 'ere!"

Harry looked up at the owner of the hand on his shoulder to find the familiar face of Professor Dumbledore smiling down at him.

Stan leapt onto the pavement beside them. "What didja call Neville, Professor?" he said excitedly.

"Ah, of course. Mr Longbottom, do forgive my lapse. I'm afraid I may have confused you for your classmate."

Harry marvelled at Dumbledore's quick reaction, as a disappointed Stan said goodbye and the bus disapparated into thin air with a bang, just as it had arrived.

"If we could have a private parlour, please, Tom?" Dumbledore addressed the wizened, toothless landlord, once they were inside the pub. "And perhaps a pot of tea, as well, so we can chat while you prepare a room for Mr Potter."


	6. Chapter 6

Harry was bemused by the unexpected appearance of the headmaster in the Leaky Cauldron, who had apparently expected to meet him there, and had already asked Tom to prepare a room for him. Before Dumbledore had led him to the parlour he had requested from the barman, however, Harry remembered the promise he had made to Dudley.

"Professor, I'm sorry, but I have to call Dudley first," he said apologetically. "It won't take long, I know there's a payphone nearby—" he rushed to say. He remembered where it was, from his first trip to Diagon Alley with Hagrid two years ago.

"Ah, I see. Of course. In that case, I better follow you." Dumbledore turned towards the exit on the muggle side.

"Er, there's no need, Professor," Harry said. "I know where it is, and I'll only be a few minutes – you can have your tea—"

"It's not an inconvenience, Harry." Dumbledore smiled, to show that he did not mind. "Truly. I wouldn't want you to wander the streets of London alone at this time."

Harry, deciding he probably would not win the argument, followed along. The phone call only lasted a couple minutes. Dudley was instantly reassured when he heard that Harry had been found by the headmaster, and the boys hung up, amid Uncle Vernon shouting in the background, interrupted every now and then by Aunt Petunia's shrill exclamations. Harry looked away from Dumbledore in embarrassment. The kiosk did not have a door, and he suspected the headmaster had been able to hear the shouting.

"How is your cousin holding up?" asked Dumbledore. "Arabella – You might know her as Mrs Figg – contacted me after you had left," he explained at Harry's taken-aback expression. "She… told me some of what you had told her, to explain why you had found it necessary to leave in the middle of the night."

Harry's bewilderment lifted somewhat. Of course. He had told Mrs Figg a little of what had been happening at the Dursleys' and also where he was going. He was still surprised that the headmaster himself had come in the middle of the night to check up on him.

"He's alright. I'm sorry to have made you all worry…" he mumbled.

Dumbledore once again reassured him that it was no trouble, as they returned to the pub and he was led along a narrow passage, following Tom's lantern, into a small parlour. The barman left after lighting a fire in the grate, but they had barely sat down and exchanged greetings when he returned, wearing an apron over his nightshirt and bearing a tray of tea and crumpets.

"Well, Mr Potter," said Dumbledore, pouring them both tea, "it seems you've had an eventful summer."

Following this prompting, Harry explained some of what had happened, how Aunt Marge's visit had prompted Dudley to speak up on his cousin's behalf. Harry tried to explain why he had found it necessary to leave in the middle of the night a few days after that, with both Ron and Hermione abroad, even though he had not actually been thrown out of the house.

The mention of Uncle Vernon's threat to throw Harry out troubled Dumbledore, but he did not linger on that unpleasant topic, just reassured Harry that his aunt would not allow it. He then began asking Harry some subtle questions. Harry's explanation of learning about Mrs Figg being a squib after asking Hagrid about his mum's cat seemed to satisfy him. He looked a little disapproving when Harry explained how he had known about the Knight Bus – having travelled with it to London the year before.

"Didn't Snape – er, Professor Snape – tell you about that?" asked a surprised Harry. "I mean, you did find out about the Polyjuice potion…"

"He did mention something about that," admitted Dumbledore. "However, he did fail to tell me how exactly you had procured the ingredients… I have to admit, I had assumed he had been exaggerating…"

Harry, a little embarrassed faced with the disapproval, tried to downplay the journey as 'uneventful', and explained that Snape had learned about it after the fact – he did not want Snape getting in trouble because of him and then taking his anger out on Harry, after all.

Then Dumbledore hesitated. "Mr Potter. Harry. I believe you know that we find ourselves in some extraordinary circumstances at the moment. There are two very dangerous men on the loose – both of whom you encountered a mere few weeks ago, in the Chamber of Secrets—"

Harry nodded. "Pettigrew and er, Black, yes." It felt so wrong to name them together that he could not quite manage to speak their names in one breath.

"Yes, indeed. I believe you'll understand why it is not the safest time for you to be travelling across the country by yourself. Would you be willing to stay here at the Leaky Cauldron for the remainder of your summer holidays?"

"Er, sure, alright," said Harry. "I'd have to let the Dursleys know – I only said I'd be gone a few days. But I can do that when next I call Dudley—"

"Ah, that's another thing. I'm going to have to ask you to please remain in Diagon Alley and not venture into muggle London. I'm sure your owl is up to the task of delivering letters to your cousin."

Harry suppressed a grimace. Even without the current need to redact all his letters, the elder Dursleys' opinion of owl post made letters a rather undesirable option. He doubted pointing this out would make the headmaster reconsider, however.

"What's with the panic, anyway?" he said "Pettigrew's been hiding for over a decade, hasn't he? And even Black's been on the run for well over a year now. Actually, how do you even know it was really them in the Chamber of Secrets? Professor McGonagall wasn't so sure. I mean, there's things like the Polyjuice potion—"

"An excellent point, Mr Potter, though at this stage it's now quite clear that it really is them. I urge you to take the danger seriously. They are both very dangerous men. Whatever plans they may have set in motion must be important enough for them to have taken the risk of being hunted by the law after the security of being thought dead."

"But we know what Pettigrew's plan was – and stopped it. And anyway, Malfoy was the one who set everything up, and no one's concerned about him walking around freely—"

"There's also the matter of Black's plans – whatever those might be." Dumbledore regarded him thoughtfully.

It had not escaped the headmaster's attention that Harry had not mentioned Sirius, then. Harry shrugged, tried to look unconcerned. "Yeah, well. Black didn't do much in the Chamber, just fought with Pettigrew for a bit, and then disappeared again. Why is he such a big deal anyway?"

"I believed you to have some knowledge of Black's history," Dumbledore replied in such a casual manner, that Harry's heart immediately began to race. "Minerva mentioned discussing him with you some time ago. There's also that letter you sent him to Azkaban. In fact, I have to say, I was rather curious about its contents when I heard about that from Madam Bones. You don't have to tell me about it, of course, if you don't wish to—"

"N-no, that's alright," mumbled Harry, feeling like he had walked into that one. He buttered a crumpet to delay answering for a moment. He had a very recent memory of explanations to awkward questions getting out of hand and revealing more than intended. He must not show his nervousness, he told himself firmly. He could tell the truth – if a simplified version of it. "It, uh, it wasn't very nice," he finally said. "Actually, it was quite a mean letter. I wrote to him what I thought of someone betraying a close friend and getting him killed." Harry tried his best not to fidget under the headmaster's scrutinising gaze.

"I see," said Dumbledore. "Let me ask this way. Do you suppose Black's response to your letter would more likely have been guilt, or anger?"

It had been something like guilt, Harry supposed, but then again, Sirius had been innocent. "I'm not sure. I didn't think it'd matter to him all that much," said Harry, once again speaking the truth. "I just… I remember being angry when I found out all he'd done, and I wanted to, uh…"

"Take it out on someone?" asked Dumbledore. "A perfectly understandable reaction, of course," he went on, seeing Harry's chagrin. "However, I believe you can see why I feel it best that you be careful. Angering someone like Black is rarely the sensible thing to do," he admonished.

Harry let his shoulders slump in a show of agreement. "I'll be careful," he said, wanting to get away from the topic as quickly as possible.

Dumbledore let it go. He finished his tea, and said his goodbyes. Before he left, however, he casually mentioned that someone from the ministry might visit him in the following days, to ask more questions about the letter Harry had sent to Sirius, much to the boy's chagrin, though Harry tried his best to hide the reaction.

~HP~

Once Tom had shown him to his room – with a brass number eleven on its door – and Harry had greeted the safely arrived Hedwig, there was one more important thing to do before he could go to sleep.

Sirius had warned him that in the magical world, the most common methods of surveillance were objects that either had eyes, or resembled mirrors. He had also said that Harry would be safe from such magic inside his hotel room, but after his recent talk with the headmaster, Harry was feeling a little paranoid. Still, after reassuring himself that the only mirror was in the bathroom, and there was nothing in the room that had eyes, he finally got his two-way mirror and called Sirius. His godfather appeared to be walking along some muggle street.

Harry began to recount his meeting with Dumbledore, still agitated about the questioning. He soon noticed, though, that Sirius was preoccupied with something else.

"Listen, Harry," said Sirius as soon as Harry had stopped talking. "I wanted to have something clarified, but I don't want to worry you—"

This, of course, had the opposite effect from the one intended.

Sirius grimaced. "Alright, here's what I've been wondering. You said that your aunt confiscated the letters you had sent to Dudley. Do you think she read them?"

"I guess…" Harry thought about it. "Oh! You mean did she read anything about you? No, I never mentioned your name in my letters – just mentioned Snuffles a couple times." He smiled, happy to have had the forethought. It had seemed like paranoia at the time, but being careful had certainly paid off—

"Well, you mightn't have, but I did…" sighed Sirius. "Remember, I also used to write to Dudley. And I always made sure to ward my letters – against falling into the wrong hands on the way to Dudley. But once they were in his hands…"

Harry felt his heart lurch, as horror spread through him. If his aunt had read those letters – if she had contacted the authorities – they could be traced back to Harry, and through him to Sirius, perhaps… It had been days since she had confiscated Dudley's letters—

"Don't look like that, Harry," said Sirius. "First of all, the main danger would be to you and your friends and cousin – for being in contact with me. There's nothing in those letters that'd help anyone find me – if you find that reassuring. I don't, to be honest. Getting you involved in my mess is the last thing I want. But you're all kids, you can say I tricked you, lied to you – that you didn't know who I was exactly—"

"Enough of that. We have to talk to Dudley. I have to call him. Dumbledore might want me to stay away from muggle London, but if you're around, I'll be fine. Could you meet me outside of the Leaky Cauldron? You can apparate without detection in the muggle parts of the country, right?"

Sirius nodded, considering. "Yes, and I'm actually very close by. Don't leave through the pub, though. There'll be enchantments put on the entrance door – possibly even an alarm." He thought about it. "You have your broom with you, don't you? Is there a window in your room?"

Harry nodded, getting up to grab his broom. "Yes, and it's actually looking out to the muggle street."

"Wait until you see me – as Padfoot – before you fly out. And make sure to leave the window open. Also," here Sirius hesitated, "if you've kept some of the letters I sent you, and don't want to destroy them, you should bring them along."

Sirius then ended the call – probably so he could shift to his animagus form. Harry hastily sorted out Sirius' letters – he had kept all of them – before staring out the window, until he saw the outline of the overgrown dog he was now so familiar with, then mounted his broom and flew.

They waited in tense silence for someone in the Dursley household to pick up the phone, knowing that Harry would have to hang up if it was not Dudley. Harry was aware of the late hour, and wondered if it might be better to try again the next day. But the only exit to the muggle world was through the pub, and Tom would see him, ask questions—

"Hello?" Dudley's careful voice came through the phone.

Harry breathed in relief, and then asked his cousin if he could talk without being overheard.

"Yes. Mum and Dad fell asleep soon after you called. They were in a better mood right away…"

"Great. Dudley, I wanted to ask about the letters Aunt Petunia took from you. I guess Sirius' letters were among them – and I don't want to worry you, but—"

Dudley snorted. "Not worry me? You think she wouldn't have had a fit if she'd seen letters from a criminal on the run? They're still hidden. I never handed them over to Dad. He wanted me to give him the letters you'd sent, so that's what I gave him—"

Harry could not help but cheer, his relief almost overwhelming. Sirius took the receiver from him, to congratulate Dudley on his quick thinking, also looking obviously relieved. Then he asked Dudley to destroy the letters. With a disappointed sigh, the blond boy agreed.

Once they had calmed down, Harry filled Dudley in on some other developments, like the fact that he would be staying in Diagon Alley for the remainder of his summer holidays, and that he would no longer be able to call on the phone – per Dumbledore's insistence.

Dudley was disappointed, but insisted that Harry should write to him – he would deal with his parents, and make sure they did not bother Hedwig. The real problem was that Harry was feeling more paranoid than ever, and doubted how much real information he could include in his letters. They were back to rehashing the same old problem of how to keep their letters private, as they had all summer.

Harry groaned. "Before, I could at least count on muggle ways to communicate when I wanted to keep things secret from the magical world – like calling Hermione on the phone. And I could send you owl post, to keep the letters secret from muggles. But now…"

"What about some kind of secret code?" suggested Dudley.

"You know, that's actually a really good idea," said Sirius, listening in, before Harry could veto it. "You've actually been doing that for a while, now. Your letters were relatively safe because you kept referring to me as Snuffles, and you kept talking about me as if Snuffles is a real dog—"

"Yeah!" said Dudley enthusiastically, when Harry passed on the idea. "We can come up with some words that mean, like, their opposite – like, 'life's boring' could mean you're investigating something—"

"I was thinking more about your cartoons," interrupted Harry, and then began to explain, among conspiratorial sniggers from Dudley and the smirking face of his godfather.

~HP~

Harry's stay in the Leaky Cauldron turned out to be very enjoyable, spent exploring Diagon Alley, visiting the shops and eating under the brightly coloured umbrellas outside the cafes. His favourite was Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, which not only served the best sundaes, but whose owner knew a great deal about witch hunts in the fourteenth century and helped Harry finish his history of magic essay.

The one unpleasant thing was that everywhere he went, he could hear the case of Sirius and Pettigrew discussed in his hearing range. Several times a day, he also saw someone reading the Daily Prophet, which invariably showed the photograph of his godfather on the front cover.

Harry got some money out of his Gringotts account so he could do his shopping as well. Remembering the way the previous year had gone, he made sure to take some extra, just in case something unexpected happened again during the school year. He even thought to exchange some of it to muggle money.

Wanting to make sure he would have money available during the year, should he need it, also meant that he was unwilling to part with more money than he had to, which made it easier to resist many of the beautiful items to be found in the shops, like a set of gold gobstones. The one thing that really tested his resolution was the newly released Firebolt broomstick, temptingly displayed on a podium inside Quality Quidditch Supplies.

There were, however, things that Harry needed to buy. New robes, more potions supplies, and school books for the new year, including _Numerology and Grammatica_ and _Unfogging the Future_ for two of his new elective subjects. Next to the divination books, there was another one, titled _Death Omens — What to Do When You Know the Worst Is Coming,_ displaying a large black dog with bright eyes, which to Harry's great hilarity looked exactly like Padfoot. He found himself very glad to already have the book for his third elective, _The Monster Book of Monsters_ , given to him by Hagrid for his birthday, as he watched the manager wrestle with the books locked inside a cage.

This reminded him that Hermione's birthday was not very far away, and therefore he did have an excuse to buy something else – something more exciting than school supplies – after all. He kept exploring the shops, to find something his friend would enjoy, though his feet often carried him back to Quality Quidditch Supplies, as well, where he could admire the Firebolt for a bit.

Harry ran into several of his classmates over the course of the days, come to do their shopping for the school year ahead. He met Seamus and Dean in Quality Quidditch Supplies, ogling the Firebolt, and spent several hours with them, their talk beginning with quidditch and then moving to all sorts of random and amusing topics. He ran into Neville in front of Flourish and Blotts, while he was being told off by his formidable-looking grandmother for mislaying his book list, and decided to rescue him.

Neville looked instantly grateful, while his grandmother's face took on a much more pleasant expression, too polite to berate her grandson in front of witnesses. Harry gave his own list to Neville, who would be having almost the same subjects as him, except he had chosen ancient runes instead of arithmancy. Harry was surprised to hear this, knowing from Hermione how much memorisation would be required for the class. The way Neville cringed when his grandmother pushed the ancient runes textbook in his hand, made Harry think that the choice had not been entirely the boy's.

This was not the last time Harry ran into Neville. The other boy found him again a few days later, while he was sitting outside of Florean Fortescue's, slurping a free sundae, courtesy of the owner. As far as Harry could tell, Neville had no real business being there, and when asked directly, the round-faced boy blushed and admitted that he had come to keep Harry company, after finding out that Harry was staying at the Leaky Cauldron by himself. He had brought his own summer homework along, to have something to talk about, because Harry had mentioned still editing his history essay.

Harry did not have the heart to admit that he was already finished with all his homework. Instead, he bought Neville a sundae of his own, and went to his room to get his essays. Neville did not want to let Harry see his potions and transfiguration essays, though he did accept Harry's offer to have a look at his.

"You're using a muggle book as reference in Snape's essay?" Neville asked with a kind of fascinated horror, after having a look.

Harry just shrugged his shoulders, looking smug. He, himself, was admiring the very detailed herbology essay of the other boy. Harry's own was regrettably lacking in comparison – Sirius had been no help with that one. Neville's charms essay was also alright – and Harry berated himself for being surprised by that. Then he reached the astronomy homework, and found his worst assumptions outdone. Sirius would have cried, seeing Neville's charts.

The other boy blushed, noticing Harry's reaction, and hastily hid his astronomy homework, but not without a longing look at Harry's enviably neat charts.

"You were working on the history essay, weren't you? Let's have a look at that," Neville said hastily.

Harry agreed, and they exchanged their essays.

"Oh, right. Of course. Squibs," Neville said after some reading. "Why didn't I think of that? Do you mind if I add that to my essay?"

"Er, no. Go ahead. You can copy whatever you want." Harry finished the section he had been reading. He had thought his essay was pretty good, after all the help he had received from Mrs Figg and Florean Fortescue, but once again he had to readjust his opinion of Neville's work. "Actually, I really like what you wrote about muggle baiting," he said. "Can I add that to my essay?"

"Oh, s-sure," said Neville, blushing happily at the unexpected praise. "Yeah, I thought what Wendelin the Weird was doing would be considered muggle baiting in modern times…"

Harry nodded. "Yes. Just as you said, she tended to do things that made muggles want to burn her – maybe not for good reasons, but she did do it on purpose. She always came away unhurt, but the muggles were reminded that magic was real, which led to more witch hunts, and the next time they might've caught a muggle – who wouldn't be able to do a flame-freezing charm…" He began adding another paragraph to his essay.

When Harry looked back up, Fortescue was grinning at them, having heard their discussion. He actually sat at their table, to tell them more hair-raising tales from history. In such company, the hours flew by most pleasantly for Harry.

The most unpleasant moment during his stay at the Leaky Cauldron came one late evening, a few days before the end of the holidays, when he was visited by the ministry officials, as promised. Tom ushered him into a private parlour again, where he was met with the sight of three mismatched men. One, Mr Weasley, was a very welcome sight. Of the other two, Harry recognised one – the portly little man in a pinstriped cloak was Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic. The third man was soon introduced to him as Auror Dawlish. He was a tough-looking wizard with very short, wiry, grey hair, who had little in common with the other auror Harry had met at Hogwarts – the cheerful, colourful witch called Tonks.

Harry sat there and listened, unimpressed, as Fudge pretended this would be a routine questioning – as if the minister himself was needed for a routine question posed to a child. Dawlish, on the other hand, did his best to make sure everyone there knew he was the principal investigator of that very important case of Black's escape from Azkaban. Mr Weasley, to his credit, did a fair job of keeping the other two men from trying to intimidate Harry.

They asked about the letter he had sent to Sirius, and Harry told them the exact same thing he had told Dumbledore. They also explained to him that it was not common knowledge that Harry had sent that letter, and that they wanted to keep it that way. Harry had no objections to that – everyone he was likely to tell about it already knew.

"Have you had any more contact with Black since then?" Dawlish then had the gall to ask.

"Why would I have contact with him?" Harry shot back, doing his best to sound bewildered.

The other two men shot the auror quelling looks, until he cleared his throat and let go of that line of questioning. Finally, they got up, ready to leave. Before he departed, Fudge berated Harry about his carelessness, about travelling by himself across the country.

Harry, wanting to check a suspicion more than anything, brought up his permission form for the Hogsmeade weekends. "I left home before my aunt and uncle had signed it. And then I wasn't supposed to return home, so it's still unsigned. D'you think you could—?" he asked the minister.

Fudge looked uncomfortable. "Ah," he said. "No, no, I'm very sorry, Harry, but as I'm not your parent or guardian—"

"But I wasn't able to return to my guardians' home – and you're the Minister for Magic," said Harry. "If you gave me permission…"

"No, I'm sorry, Harry, but rules are rules," said Fudge flatly. "Perhaps you'll be able to visit Hogsmeade next year. In fact, I think it's best if you don't… yes… well, we'll be off. Enjoy your stay, Harry."

It was best if he did not visit Hogsmeade, was it? Harry thought angrily. He was now quite sure his suspicion had been right – he was thought to be in danger from Sirius, of all the crazy ideas.

With a smile and shake of Harry's hand, Fudge left, the auror in tow. Mr Weasley managed to tell Harry that his family would be visiting Diagon Alley on the last day of holidays, before he followed them.

~HP~

Harry woke on the last day of holidays, and was buzzing with anticipation before he had finished breakfast. There was so much he wanted to tell his best friends, and at least he would be seeing Ron very soon. He stayed in the Leaky Cauldron, in the pub area, staring at the fireplace, so he would see the Weasleys as soon as they arrived. He saw lots of people come and go – several more of his classmates, even. He was still busy staring at the fireplace, when he heard someone yell his name from the opposite side of the pub, the entrance from the muggle street.

"Harry! HARRY!"

He turned, and there was Hermione, already running towards him. Her parents were following at a slower pace, carrying her luggage. Harry got up, returned his friend's hug, then greeted her parents. They already knew why he was staying at the pub – Mr Weasley had told Ron, who had written to Hermione. Harry reassured the concerned-looking Grangers that he was alright, and so was Dudley. They asked a fair amount of detail about his cousin's fight with his parents, but Harry did not mind. The Grangers had been so helpful all summer that he felt comfortable telling them about his family.

They also expressed their disappointment at Harry not having a signed Hogsmeade form, and Harry realised that they did not fully understand the panic that had taken over the wizarding world because of Sirius and Pettigrew, and how everyone's focus was once again on Harry and his safety.

The Weasleys arrived not too long after, and Harry watched as one redhead after another stepped through the fireplace. Hermione's parents then said their goodbyes, leaving their daughter in the Weasleys' care. After Harry had greeted the entire family, he and his two best friends left the pub, to wander along Diagon Alley.

Finally, Harry could tell his friends all that had happened to him, without having to redact every mention of Sirius. They listened with rapt attention as he told them about the near-disaster with Sirius' letters, about Dumbledore's questioning, the minister's questioning. He also told them what his godfather had taught him about surveillance spells, and about protective spells.

Next, it was Ron's turn to share some of what the twins had managed to find out from Bill – as well as the agreement he had come to with Fred and George. His friends were suitably impressed, and Hermione added her share of knowledge on the topic, which she had acquired over the summer.

With the more serious topics out of the way, their talk switched to more pleasant things. While Ron and Hermione shopped for their school supplies, they talked about Ron's trip to Egypt, Hermione's trip to France, Harry's meetings with Mrs Figg and Neville.

The assistant at Flourish and Blotts nearly cried when they said they wanted two copies of _The Monster Book of Monsters_ , but he recovered his mood somewhat when he found out just how many books Hermione would be buying. Harry made sure to point the image of the grim on the divination book cover out to them, and they all had a good laugh, much to the assistant's disapproval, who clearly did not think the grim was a laughing matter.

Finally, they went to the Magical Menagerie, so Hermione could buy herself an early birthday present from the money her parents had given her. Ron, who no longer had a pet – not that he was in any way sorry to be rid of Scabbers – examined the cages with some interest.

"Mum asked me if I wanted another pet. She knows now that I lost my wand when er, _Scabbers_ , er, ran away." He rolled his eyes. "I already have a new wand, but we still have some money from the prize draw, so…"

They examined the cages full of various magical and non-magical animals, while Hermione tried to make up her mind. Then Ron spotted a vast cage on the counter, full of sleek black rats that were playing some sort of skipping game using their long, bald tails. He approached the cage after the customer being served had left. The witch behind the counter, seeing his interest, began praising the rats' longevity and skill, and the rats promptly started skipping again. Seeing Ron's dubious expression, she opened the cage, and handed him one of the rats to admire.

Ron turned to ask Harry what he thought of the idea, when something huge and orange came soaring from the top of the highest cage, landed on his head, and then propelled itself, spitting madly, at the rat in his hands.

"NO, CROOKSHANKS, NO!" cried the witch, but the rat jumped between her hands and ran across the room, towards the cages along the walls.

It took the boys a fair few minutes to help catch the rat and put him back in his cage.

"Annoying little blighter!" said Ron. "All he's good for is showing off."

Hermione, on the other hand, was cradling the enormous ginger monstrosity that had attacked the rat. "He's gorgeous, isn't he?" she asked the disbelieving boys, and would not be persuaded away from buying him.

~HP~

That night, the entire Weasley family and Hermione were also staying at the Leaky Cauldron. Ron and Percy, who were staying in the room next to Harry's, started shouting just as Harry had finished packing – Percy was accusing Ron of mislaying his new head boy badge. Ron, knowing that Harry probably wanted to call Sirius without being overheard, suggested to his brother they should see if the badge had been left in the bar.

Percy would not hear of it, insisting that he and Ron search their room instead. So Harry volunteered to go instead.

He had almost reached the passage to the bar when he heard Mr and Mrs Weasley's angry voices coming from the parlour. He went to investigate when he heard his name mentioned, and found his worst suspicions verified.

Apparently, everyone at the ministry was convinced that Sirius was out for revenge against Harry – for the letter he had written, but more importantly for leading to Voldemort's downfall. This, Fudge did not want Harry to know, and Mrs Weasley was apparently in agreement with him, while Mr Weasley at least argued that Harry should be told – so that he would not 'wander off' by himself and get himself in danger. Harry's letter to Sirius – something that nearly panicked Mrs Weasley when she heard about it – as well as Sirius' supposed plans for revenge were kept secret from the public, while every ministry employee – including Mr Weasley – had been pulled off their regular jobs to help capture Sirius.

Harry could barely suppress his anger by that point. Mr Weasley had barely even mentioned Pettigrew. The only positive thing was that according to him, the ministry was no closer to capturing Sirius than they had been when they had found out he was alive.

Harry listened at the door until he heard chairs move, and then hurried down to the deserted bar. On his way back upstairs, he ran into Fred and George, crouching in the shadows on the landing, heaving with laughter as they listened to Percy dismantling his and Ron's room in search of his badge.

"We've got it," Fred whispered to Harry. "We've been improving it."

The badge now read _Bighead Boy_.

Harry forced a laugh, before heading back upstairs, to shut himself in his room. He needed to think.


	7. Chapter 7

Harry had barely woken the next morning, when Ron barged into his room, pulling a sweatshirt over his head and complaining about Percy.

"I've got something to tell you—" began Harry, but was interrupted by Fred and George, come to congratulate Ron on annoying Percy.

Harry did not get a chance to speak to Hermione and Ron in private that morning. They were all busy getting ready to go to King's Cross. Hermione was keeping Ginny company, who was still not fully recovered from her ordeal the year before, according to both Harry's friends – he himself would not have been able to say either way, because she was as shy around him as ever. Ron was still arguing with Percy about ruining a photograph of his girlfriend – apparently, that Ravenclaw prefect, Penelope Clearwater, was Percy's girlfriend.

Then there was the chaos of heaving all their luggage into the two ministry cars that were to take them to King's Cross. Mr Weasley's ears had gone red the day before, when trying to explain why they were getting such a preferential treatment. Harry had already surmised by then that Fudge believed him in danger from Sirius, so had known that the cars were due to him, but he doubted anyone believed Mr Weasley's explanation that people from the ministry were doing him a favour.

At the station, Mrs Weasley kissed all her children, then Hermione, and finally Harry. "Do take care, won't you, Harry?" she said, her eyes oddly bright.

Harry was touched by her care, despite being frustrated that she thought him in danger from Sirius. Then Mr Weasley decided to have a word with him in private, and Harry steeled himself as he followed along behind a pillar, already knowing what he was about to hear.

"There's something I've got to tell you before you leave—" said Mr. Weasley in a tense voice.

Harry had given some thought to this the night before. Resolutely, he admitted to having overheard Mr and Mrs Weasley talking the previous night.

Mr Weasley waved away Harry's reassurance that this way, at least, he had not gone against Fudge's orders. "Harry, you must be scared—" he said instead.

"I'm not," said Harry firmly. " _Really_." He rolled his eyes at Mr Weasley's disbelief. "Black's been on the run for over a year now, and he hasn't done anything against me—"

"He was there in the Chamber of Secrets—"

"—fighting Pettigrew. And how come no one's worried about _him_ , anyway?"

"We believe that Pettigrew, while also dangerous, would've stayed hidden indefinitely if Black had not escaped. He's certainly not the leader—"

"Well, he was the one actually holding us at wandpoint. And he mightn't have been the leader, but he was happy to be helping the possessed Lockhart – possessed by Malfoy's little present. Black attacking him really helped us, actually—"

Mr Weasley opened his mouth – looking taken aback by Harry's words – when they heard Mrs Weasley shouting that the train was about to depart.

"Please tell me you already knew that," said Harry, and even he could hear the frustration in his own voice. Some part of him cautioned him that he was reaching dangerous territory.

"I did…" Mr Weasley replied hesitantly, before calling back to his wife that they were on the way. "But, Harry, listen. I want you to give me your word that you won't go looking for Black, or contact him again – to discover his exact motivation, or for any other reason."

"What? And no such promises about Pettigrew?" Harry tried again.

Mr Weasley tried once again to make him promise, but the shrill whistle sounded, announcing the time for departure, and Harry ran to the compartment door, shouting his goodbyes to Mr and Mrs Weasley.

As soon as the train had picked up speed, Harry turned to his friends. "I need to talk to you in private," he said, and then cringed, as he realised there was only one other person around.

"Go away, Ginny," said Ron.

Hermione tried to soften the blow, tried to tell her she could come and find them 'soon', but Ron shook his head, until Ginny had walked away huffily.

"Ron," admonished Hermione. "She was possessed most of last year – she probably doesn't have any friends! – No offence, Harry."

"Well, then this'll be her chance to make friends. Anyway, Harry's been trying to tell me – us – something since this morning." Ron turned to Harry with curiosity written all over his face.

They walked along the corridor, trying to find an empty compartment, but the best they could do was one with a single occupant – an adult man sitting fast asleep next to the window. They soon determined that he must be the new defence against the dark arts teacher, despite the shabby robes and his ill and exhausted appearance.

"R. J. Lupin… The name sounds familiar, doesn't it?" said Harry. "But I can't remember where from…"

His friends did not recognise the name, so Harry gave up thinking about it. He agreed to stay in the compartment, but would not discuss what he had to tell them inside.

"We can't risk him waking up…" he said, as he led his friends back out to the corridor.

They walked along the row of windows on the other side of the corridor, as Harry talked at length about the argument he had overheard Ron's parents having the night before, the warnings Mr Weasley had given him, and his own response.

Ron and Hermione looked less angry than Harry had expected, and more worried for him.

"Harry, I know you're worried for Sirius, and want him to be declared innocent," said Hermione. "But if you look at it from Mr Weasley's perspective, you can see his point. Of course he'd warn you not to go looking for trouble—"

"I don't go looking for trouble," said Harry, nettled. "Trouble usually finds _me_." And was that not the truth? Once again, Harry was reminded of the prophecy involving him, and of the threats Voldemort had spoken to him both times they had fought.

Hermione began to argue back, but then she also remembered, her face turning stricken. "W-well, even more reason to be careful, isn't it?" she said faintly.

"I'm trying to be," Harry replied. He stopped walking, and stood staring out of the window, without taking in the scenery passing by. "But it feels like everyone's gone mad! Pettigrew's alive. You know, before the summer, I thought, once people had thought it over, they'd all realise by themselves that Sirius must be innocent then! Even after Sirius told me about the Veritaserum questioning – considering the sorts of questions he was asked—"

"But people don't know all the details," said Ron.

"Well, still! Why focus on Sirius? Pettigrew was obviously helping to attack Hogwarts students with a basilisk – _and_ he's evaded justice for over a decade! Instead, people think Sirius is trying to kill me, or something – and Pettigrew's his sidekick! They were seen fighting, for—"

"I know, mate," interrupted Ron, much quieter than Harry's now raised voice. "But you saying such things might make matters worse. If you defend Sirius too much, people might figure out that you're in contact with him – and that wouldn't end well."

"I know that."

"Harry, Sirius admitted under Veritaserum that he was responsible for your parents' deaths—" said Hermione.

"Because he was the one to suggest they switch secret keepers!"

"Yes, I know that, but others don't – as Ron said. And Pettigrew just doesn't seem very dangerous in comparison," Hermione went on. "We know he's caused loads of trouble – and harm. But I guess other people just can't believe him capable of so much damage. And as Mr Weasley said, he only made an appearance after Sirius had escaped—"

Harry turned to stare out the window, watching the landscape glide by. "No… The situation's mad even without Pettigrew. Here's the thing – If Sirius had been the traitor, he'd basically have been Pettigrew. You know, a snitch – a friend of my dad's who gave Voldemort access to my parents' home—" He ignored the indrawn breaths behind him. "Well, minus being my godfather, but that hardly matters. So what's with everyone's panic? The whole ministry's looking for him, neglecting their other jobs – I bet Lucius Malfoy loves that! You know, Stan Whatshisname – the Knight Bus conductor – was actually saying Sirius was Voldemort's second in command—"

More indrawn breaths, followed by aborted speech. Harry turned back around, to see his friends' frowning faces.

"Well, what about the twelve muggles killed by a single curse?" said Ron.

"But Pettigrew cast that curse!"

"Exactly!" agreed Hermione. "Pettigrew was never known to be that powerful, but Sirius used to be really good at school, right? So of course people believed that he'd done it—"

"Really, Hermione? You think people believe Sirius to be Voldemort's second in command because he did well in school?" Harry did not bother to tone down the sarcasm.

"Well, that and the obvious," said Ron. He had an odd, almost embarrassed expression, when his friends' uncomprehending eyes swivelled to him. "Well, Sirius, he – he's the heir of the House of Black…"

~HP~

It had been madness to travel on the morning after the full moon. Not that his transformations were ever convenient, but why one had to fall on that night, of all times… He had been in no shape to travel by magical means, of course – even the thought of apparating or travelling through the floo network made him nauseous. So if he had not taken the Hogwarts Express that morning – after taking a muggle train from Wales to London – it would have meant missing the welcoming feast at Hogwarts on his very first day as professor.

A week before, after the first staff meeting of the year – the first staff meeting Remus had ever attended – he had finally made up his mind that he would not let his condition take that away from him. His new colleagues – and what a strange and exhilarating way to think of them as such – had shown mixed feelings about having Remus among them. Some – Hagrid, McGonagall, Madam Pomfrey – had been ecstatic, he had been thrilled to discover. Snape, unsurprisingly, had been openly hostile. Then there were several others, who were trying to be open-minded, but had seemed distrustful of his abilities, considering his condition. Dumbledore, Remus thought, had done a good job of reassuring them of the safety of the students, but there were also his physical disabilities. He would have to miss classes every now and then. After the staff meeting, he had decided that he would begin his teaching career by making the best impression he could. He would turn up for the welcoming feast.

But that had been then and this was now.

For a moment there, during his transfer from Paddington to King's Cross, he had feared he would not make it, he would pass out in the middle of the city, among the muggles, and possibly find himself having to answer very awkward questions afterwards. It had been years since such a thing had happened to him – these days he was very well acquainted with his limits, and had become sensible enough to heed them.

But Hogwarts had beckoned.

The train began to move, and Remus finally allowed himself to pass out. He had made it. He could relax, sleep. He was not expected to move from the spot for hours.

The voices filtered through his sleep-addled mind slowly, blending in with his fitful dreams. He had hoped, being an unknown adult, and in the very last compartment, would deter students from joining him, but it was not to be. Remus heard the door open and shut, and all sorts of rattling luggage being dragged inside. Then there was relative silence again.

The next time he became aware of his travel companions, some time must have passed, because the students seemed long since settled in the cabin. His sleep was interrupted by something large and furry bumping against his legs, which was followed by furious hissing and some raised voices.

"…can't believe you're arguing for him to stay at school, Hermione," a boy's voice was saying. "You didn't mind us sneaking out of school last year—"

In Remus' sleep-addled mind the words began to merge with half-remembered memories, which in turn transformed into short, confusing dream sequences. It sounded so very familiar, this talk of Hogsmeade weekends, of sneaking out of school, of secret passageways and invisibility cloaks…

They must be Gryffindors, Remus thought in his more lucid moments. Every time he fell back asleep, his dreams were filled with bittersweet images of the past, of his three friends that he rarely ever allowed himself to think of these days. He had known being back at Hogwarts might lead to that, but—

"Ron! I don't think Harry should be sneaking out of the school with the minister watching his every move—"

The raised voice woke Remus enough that he finally registered the name. Harry. It could not be, he told himself. His random travel companions could not be talking about James' son. Yet, it sounded oddly like they might be – Dumbledore had told him about the letter Harry had sent to Azkaban, and the reaction Fudge had when hearing about it. What other Hogwarts student could possibly fear being watched by the minister?

"Yeah, I expect a number of people will be trying to keep an eye on me. Not like they've anything better to do – like chase actual criminals – say Pettigrew!"

That voice! It sounded bitter, angry, yet subdued. It was not at all like the self-confident, brash voice of James that still haunted Remus' memories of his childhood. The tone of it, though, was familiar – so much so, that Remus jolted fully awake, now paying attention to what was being said.

"But we've had plenty of practice, getting around Hogwarts undetected," came the spirited voice of the boy called Ron. "And the dementors can't even see—"

Suddenly, their talk of sneaking out of Hogwarts was less reminiscent of fond memories and more a reason to worry. Not least of all, because he was reminded that his – former – friends were also quite adept at getting around Hogwarts undetected, thanks to having worked on an – admittedly ingenious – invasion of the school wards during their school days. Remus doubted that Dumbledore had understood his warning with regards to that – but then again, he had not even mentioned the Marauders' Map—

"Oh, Ron, don't talk rubbish—" the girl began to say, but was interrupted by a faint, tinny sort of whistle coming from somewhere inside the compartment.

Remus twitched involuntarily at the noise, which only added to the students' frantic searching for its source.

"Is that a sneakoscope?" the girl asked interestedly.

"Yeah… mind you, it's a very cheap one," Ron said. "Wonder what set it off… Could've been that beast…"

"It's not Crookshanks! He's not at all untrustworthy—"

There was a sudden silence. Remus, exhaustion overtaking him once again, began to slip back to sleep. The tinny sound faded away. Before he had fully fallen asleep, he realised he himself must have set the sneakoscope off, listening in as he had been to the students' conversation.

"You reckon it was him that set it off?" asked Harry at that moment, and with a jolt Remus realised the boy must be pointing at him.

"It doesn't look like he's awake…"

"Really, Hermione, teachers can also deceive, you know." That was Ron again.

Remus felt a twinge of guilt at hearing that. He did not force his eyes open, as he was in no condition to hold a conversation. Instead, he tried to slip back into sleep. He could not manage it fast enough, of course. Despite the much quieter tones, he listened to the surprising turn the conversation took.

"…Wouldn't we know it. Another year, another defence professor, right?" That bitter voice was Harry's.

"We really can't allow ourselves to be surprised by yet another possessed defence teacher. Harry, where's your foe-glass?" asked the girl called Hermione.

That was followed by more shuffling. Foe-glass? As well as a sneakoscope? Remus' mind was reeling. Initially, the young students' conversation had reminded him of his own mischievous youth, but this well-prepared, organised behaviour he did not recognise.

"Well, it doesn't look like he's a foe…" said Harry.

A quiet snort. "Lockhart wasn't either, to begin with. Doesn't mean he can be trusted," said Ron.

"That's not very nice. He could be a wonderful teacher, for all we know—"

"You thought the same about Lockhart, Hermione—"

"Come on, Ron. She figured him out long before Lockhart was possessed."

"Well, alright. We can wait and see what he's like. Or what Snape makes of him—" said Ron.

"But Snape'll hate him on principle – because he got the defence against the dark arts position!" said Harry.

That was the least of the reasons why Snape hated him, thought Remus. Were Harry and his friends going to base their opinion of him on Snape's? The thought was unexpectedly horrifying.

"Well, Snape didn't hate Quirrel all that much, until Quirrel began trying to steal the stone," said Hermione.

It really sounded like they wanted to rely on Snape's judgement, thought an astonished Remus. Before this, he would have bet that Snape's loathing of James would have extended to Harry to the point where it would have caused Harry to hate Snape in return. It had never occurred to him to consider how he should react if that was not the case. Remus himself was still undecided about how to approach Harry. He did not think it would be the right thing to do, to single him out, by making him aware that he had been a close friend of the Potters'. Remus supposed there were enough people already trying to befriend the famous Harry Potter, without one of his teachers trying to add to it. But having Harry share Snape's opinion of him was too much. Even disregarding his own dismay at the thought, he knew James would have been horrified—

The sneakoscope began to whistle again, until it was stuck inside Harry's trunk to dampen its sound – supposedly so it would not wake Remus.

"Hah! You reckon Snape'll fail to become the most disliked teacher again this year?" said Ron.

"I wouldn't bet on it," said Harry. "He wasn't too far off these last two years, and he was competing against teachers possessed by Voldemort."

This was followed by sniggers from all three students. Remus was not sure what to make of it. Apparently, Harry and his friends did dislike Snape, after all. Yet, they still trusted his opinion. He berated himself for the involuntary displeasure the thought had caused. He had read in the news about some of the things that had happened at Hogwarts the previous two years. He knew Snape had helped to defend the school against the basilisk, Pettigrew and the possessed former defence professor a mere few months ago. As Harry had said, it was difficult to dislike him more than someone possessed and intent on killing a portion of the student body. Perhaps that was all.

There was a part of Remus that disagreed with the assessment. There had been a teasing tone in Harry's voice, when talking about Snape, that did not speak of real hate. The same had been true of his friends. But in the quiet that had fallen, such detailed considerations became difficult, and he slipped back into a fitful sleep.

He did not wake again fully for some time. The familiar sound of the food cart passing by blended in with his dream-memories. He vaguely became aware of being addressed, but it did not last long enough for him to awaken. There was one other interruption later on, as the voices of more students mingled in with the voices of Remus' travel companions. The mention of Malfoy's name stirred a vague worry. There were harsh, angry voices – a confrontation. Someone knocked something over. Remus was on the verge of waking up, but again the situation resolved itself before he was forced to regain consciousness.

It took a much more serious commotion to finally wake him. The train came to a stop with a jolt. Even to his sleeping subconscious this was a clear enough signal that it was time to wake up. On top of that, the lights went out. Then the compartment door was thrown open and more students streamed in. While the students tried to make themselves known in the pitch darkness, Remus got up.

"Quiet!" he said, his voice still sleep-rough and tense.

He conjured some flames, and in their light was able to make out the faces of five students, Harry among them, with his startlingly green eyes, who was the most familiar stranger Remus had ever met. He quickly looked away so he would not stare. Two red-heads – clearly Weasleys, a girl he did not recognise – who must be Hermione, and the Longbottom boy, were the other occupants of the compartment.

"Stay where you are," he told the worried, young faces around him, none older than Harry, as he got up and turned to the door.

It slid open before he had reached it, and he was assailed by the cold, before he had even seen the dementor. Dark thoughts – thoughts that even on good days he had trouble keeping at bay these days – came to the surface, until he felt like he was drowning in them.

Was he deluding himself, letting himself hope without reason? Was he putting everyone in danger, refusing to reveal everything he knew about the other two Marauders' abilities? Just because the Marauders' Map had been confiscated by Filch, did it mean that it was gone for good, and posed no danger? Besides, while he knew he would be unable to recreate it unless he was inside Hogwarts, and could examine the wards (and even then, it would be challenging, requiring him to read up on a fair number of technical books), he also knew that the Sirius Black of old would have had far less trouble with it. It used to be his specialty, that sort of technical spellwork.

He was keeping important information hidden, he knew. No matter how much he tried to reassure himself that the Marauders' Map was not going to turn up, that Black's mind would have deteriorated too much after a decade in Azkaban to still pose such risk, he knew that he was not being entirely honest with Dumbledore – the headmaster, who had allowed him to attend Hogwarts, when such a thing had seemed unthinkable for him; who had now given him his dream job, a year after that horrible legislation had been introduced and his meagre job offers had completely disappeared.

And yet. Was he not a werewolf? the insidious thought returned. Had Snape not been right to accuse him of _still_ being loyal to his friends? He could not refute it now, in the dementor's presence, as he had done to Snape's face. He had only needed the barest suspicion that all might not be as it seemed – the merest hint of hope—

It was only after Harry had passed out and started convulsing on the floor, that Remus snapped out of his thoughts. The rage he felt at his former friends, for causing him to doubt everything, let him overcome the despair. He stepped closer to the dementor, wand in hand.

"None of us are hiding Sirius Black under our cloaks – or Peter Pettigrew. Go," he said.

When the dementor did not move, he cast a patronus – successfully, despite his current shortage of happy memories. Remus turned back around. Ron and Hermione – Remus recognised their voices – were kneeling next to Harry, trying to wake him up.

"Who screamed?" Harry asked, as he was helped back to his seat.

"No one screamed," said Ron nervously, clearly worried for his friend.

They all looked pale and shaken, though none as much as Harry. Remus did not need to guess why that was. He did not linger on that thought. Instead, he got out the slab of chocolate he had had the foresight to bring with him, after hearing about the dementors 'guarding' Hogwarts. He broke it into pieces, so everyone could have some, but went to Harry to offer him the first piece.

Harry took the chocolate but did not eat it. "Was that thing a dementor?" he asked with a look of revulsion.

"Yes, one of the dementors of Azkaban," Remus answered, after giving everyone else a piece of chocolate as well.

"The prison _guards_ ," said Harry, and there was disgust in his tone, but he looked sad. "Those things are allowed near _people_?" He looked like he wanted to say something else, but then shook it off, his face settling into a grim expression instead.

His friends – Ron and Hermione, who had been in the compartment with him the entire journey – shot him sympathetic looks.

Remus did not know what to make of that. "Eat," he said instead. "It'll help. I need to speak to the driver, excuse me…" He hurried out of the compartment.

Harry's reaction to the dementors had bothered Remus. The knowing, sympathetic looks his friends had given him added to his unease. Fudge thought Harry's letter to Black had induced a wish for revenge. Harry and his friends, though, had mentioned Pettigrew, Fudge and the dementors as opponents to ward against earlier during the journey, but not Black. Harry was merely a child, of course. Yet, if he had written such an angry letter – if it had been his loathing for Black that had induced him to go through the trouble of contacting him, would he now be feeling sorry for the prisoners guarded by dementors?

Dumbledore, during their disquieting meeting in the summer, had suggested that the letter might have caused guilt instead – perhaps even strong enough remorse to make Black fight Pettigrew. It was a possibility. It would mean that whatever had caused the rift between the Marauders, there had still been parts of their friendship that had been true, that the betrayal had not been inevitable – the natural, _easy_ choice for Black. Yet it was not enough for Remus. Never mind that there were far worse explanations to be had for Black's behaviour: It could easily be another deception. Black could be faking a change of heart, now that he had found himself on the losing side, using Harry's letter as a kind of stepping stone for the new manipulation. (But was that sort of behaviour not more reminiscent of someone else?)

No, instead, Remus was clinging to a most dangerous, precarious spark of hope, based on nothing but a theoretical possibility, and the vague suspicion that he and Dumbledore had had the same thought during his visit to Remus' house. What if they had been wrong all along? Considering the chaos the Death Eater trials had been… Dumbledore had wavered, remembering the evidence against Black, he was sure. What if there had been a mistake and Siri- _Black_ had not betrayed them? The most difficult, painful of all his thoughts: What if an innocent man – his _friend_ – had spent a decade in Azkaban, while the real traitor was on the loose?

Remus ran into another dementor on the way to the driver and was forced to get rid of it. The dementor's presence replaced his already disquieting thoughts with crippling doubt: Was there any truth to his hope? Black faking his death, only to reappear in the company of Pettigrew and a criminal teacher possessed by an artefact of Voldemort, before disappearing again, without pleading his innocence, without offering any explanations whatsoever – it was hardly irrefutable proof of his innocence.

Worse, even – had any of it been true?

He had been devastated when he had learned of Black's betrayal, all those years ago. Perhaps even more so than he had been by James' death. It had been war, he had constantly feared losing his friends – especially James and Lily, with the prophecy hanging over their heads. When it had finally happened, it had not come as a shock, no matter how painful it had been. He had mourned Pettigrew just as much, constantly hurting from the fact that he had lost even that last one of his friends, unwilling to understand why he had to die as well. But finding out that Black had been the traitor had shaken everything he believed, had cast a shadow over every happy memory he had.

Yet, one friend out of three, one Marauder out of four having fallen, he had been able to come to terms with over the years. Finding out that Pettigrew had been a traitor had shown him that he had still more to lose. If two of the four Marauders had conspired to kill a third, then clearly nothing Remus had believed of his friendships had been true.

Unless Sirius was innocent.

Disturbed at the direction of his thoughts, Remus forced himself to deal with the matter at hand. He spoke to the driver, to discover that they were a mere ten minutes away from Hogwarts, reassured students he met on the way, and then returned to his compartment.

Back in the cabin, he found Harry and his friends talking in hushed voices. The sight of James' son, so very similar to his late father, finally focused Remus' resolve. There was one thing he was sure of. His friendship with James and Lily had been real, had been true. Despite all the upheaval in his life, his belief in that was still unshaken, and so was his loyalty to them.

He would stay true to them in turn. He would do his best to protect Harry while he was at Hogwarts. He might even talk to Harry, tell him of his friendship with his parents, share some of his memories…

~HP~

Harry was thoroughly embarrassed by the time he reached Hogwarts. Malfoy had wasted no time to make fun of him for fainting in the presence of a dementor. He suspected everyone in the school would know about it by morning. As if that was not enough, McGonagall found him at the entrance to the great hall, and took him and Hermione – but not Ron – to her office, where Harry had to be looked over by Madam Pomfrey, because apparently the new defence teacher had reported his fainting spell.

Next, their head of house wanted to have a word about their course schedules. "Do you know, you two are the only students this year who have chosen both arithmancy and divination as electives? A most unusual combination," she said, with no small amount of vexation. "Miss Granger, you've chosen every subject, of course, and as promised last year, the school will accommodate you. I did ask the ministry and got permission for you to use this—" She set a small box on the table.

"Oh, is that—" Hermione broke off, looking at Harry suspiciously.

It was such a strange reaction from his friend, that Harry raised his eyebrows. Was she hiding something from him?

"Yes, it's the time-turner, Miss Granger, requested in your name. But because only the two of you wanted to take both arithmancy and divination, we still decided to schedule both subjects together – the timetables would've been a nightmare, otherwise." She looked at them meaningfully.

So Hermione really had been hiding something from him. Harry was feeling completely out of the loop, never having heard of a time-turner. The name did sound intriguing, he thought.

"So… I'm supposed to share my time-turner with Harry?" asked Hermione, catching on quickly.

"We thought it would be best. A request for a time-turner for a student with only three electives likely wouldn't have been granted – especially, well…" She trailed off, flustered.

Harry's shoulders slumped. "You know about the letter, then?" he asked.

"The one you sent to Black? Yes. I believe you're aware that you're thought to be in some danger, Mr Potter," said Professor McGonagall. "But I have every confidence in Miss Granger that she will not use the time-turner for – unadvised – purposes. I also trust that you, Mr Potter, won't do anything that might get your friend in trouble with the ministry." Once both her students had nodded, she went on briskly, "Well, then. Let me explain its usage and the laws surrounding it…"

Once they were finally dismissed and made their way to the great hall, they found that they had missed the sorting. They did enjoy the rest of the feast, after which they got to congratulate Hagrid on his appointment as the new care for magical creatures professor.

Harry was still feeling the festive mood, when he told his dorm mates that he wanted to go for a walk before curfew a little while later. Ron smirked at him knowingly, as Harry collected his two-way mirror and his map, and set out to find a secure spot from which to call Sirius, finally settling on an empty classroom.

Harry had much to tell his godfather. He began with the new defence professor. Sirius looked concerned, when Harry told him he and his friends suspected the teacher might have overheard their conversation on the train, despite appearing to be asleep. Sirius did not even argue that Snape's clear dislike of the new teacher was a warning sign – until Harry happened to mention that said teacher's name was Lupin.

"Remus!" Sirius barked a laugh. "You've got Professor Moony as an actual professor!"

It was difficult to say which of them was more surprised at the revelation. Harry was embarrassed that he had not recognised the name of someone Sirius had mentioned to him regularly regularly – but admittedly mostly referred to as Remus, or Moony. Sirius wanted to know every detail – and had a few choice words to say about Snape's reaction – but was not worried to hear that his old friend had looked ill and exhausted.

"It was the full moon last night, I'm surprised he managed to stay awake long enough to get on the train," he said. "If you'd actually had a look through your astronomy book, you might've known that—"

Harry quickly moved on to telling Sirius about the dementor on the Hogwarts Express. He downplayed his own embarrassing reaction, though he did gripe about Malfoy telling everyone about it, and Madam Pomfrey thinking him delicate.

Sirius answered with another of his bark-like laughs. "Delicate? You? She should've seen you fight the basilisk last spring!"

Harry was instantly cheered by the reminder, even though his godfather had not actually witnessed much of that fight.

Then Sirius sobered. "I'm sorry you had to meet one of those foul things."

"Me? You spent ten years with them around—"

"Mostly as Padfoot," Sirius said lightly. "Even as a human, they never had that strong an effect on me. But you – with all that darkness you've had to suffer – should never have been forced into their company—"

"It was just embarrassing," muttered Harry. "I was the only one who fainted. Even Ginny didn't, and she's had a pretty disturbing year—" Harry waved off his godfather's attempts to reassure him. "I'm fine. Just annoyed that they'll be here all year, all around the school. I'll have to think of ways to get around them, when I sneak out. Dumbledore warned us – me – that the invisibility cloak won't hide me from them."

Sirius nodded, and made Harry promise to discuss any plans to sneak out with him first – so he could help with the planning. Harry, who had harboured a slight fear that Sirius might disapprove of his plans to sneak out of school, perked up.

"You know, it'd be really useful if I were an animagus as well," he mused. "I'd be much safer from the dementors, and it'd make sneaking out in general so much easier…"

Sirius laughed loudly enough that Harry anxiously glanced at his map, to make sure there was no one nearby to hear.

"Don't get me wrong, Harry. I'd certainly love to teach you," said Sirius. "But I don't think you understand how difficult it is. Besides, there are other ways to ward against dementors. There's that spell Remus used on the train – from how Hermione described it to you, it must've been the patronus charm. That's also very advanced, though. Honestly, the safest thing you can do is stay away from the dementors—"

"But you wouldn't mind teaching me how to become an animagus, if I wanted to?" asked Harry, excitement rising. Once again, Sirius seemed a lot more amenable to Harry's wishes than expected, much to the boy's surprise.

"No," Sirius replied slowly, having picked up on Harry's reaction. "Are you really interested? I have to warn you, it's a lot of work—"

"I'll do it," said Harry at once. He stared at his godfather's happy smile, and suddenly no longer knew why he had thought Sirius would shoot down the idea. "When can we start?"

Sirius really was beginning to look excited at the prospect of teaching him, and agreed to tell him all the details as early as the next evening.

Finally, before they said goodnight, Harry remembered to tell Sirius about the time-turner.

His godfather's eyes sharpened, and he visibly sat forward in excitement. "Now, that's interesting…"


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided to use the calendar of the school year 1993/1994. Going forward, this will mean altering the timeline of Prisoner of Azkaban to fit with actual calendar events, e.g. full moons. I'll keep the alterations to the absolute minimum. Hopefully, those who don't remember all the details, won't even notice the changes. The first day of school is meant to be a Thursday, as 2 September 1993 was a Thursday. Another (hopefully not too off-putting) change is that all elective classes are assumed to be shared with all four houses. I'm still undecided over whether to keep that. I mostly chose this because I just could not make sense of Rowling's system and this seemed easiest.

Harry began telling Ron and Hermione about his chat with Sirius as soon as they stepped out of the Gryffindor common room. By the time they had approached the great hall, Hermione was buzzing with excitement.

"Oh, I want to learn as well, Harry! I'd love to become an animagus," she said as loudly as she dared in the busy corridor. "Do you think I can come along and talk to, er, Snuffles tonight as well?"

"What? What about all your subjects, Hermione?" said Ron. "Didn't you take every elective? When'll you find the time?"

But Hermione would hear none of it. Harry had no objections. If anything, he felt that Hermione might help him if he had trouble learning.

The planning had to be shelved during breakfast. First, there were the Slytherins – Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson, most of all – loudly making fun of Harry for fainting on the train. Fred and George did their best to reassure Harry, telling him how Draco himself had run into their compartment during the dementor's inspection of the train, how even their father had been shaken by his visit to Azkaban, and finally distracting him with quidditch talk. Then George gave them their new schedules. Harry began to examine his while helping himself to some breakfast, but was interrupted as an unknown owl flew over their heads and delivered a package to Hermione.

"It's the Daily Prophet," she explained to the curious boys. "I decided to get a subscription this summer. You know, in case there's any unexpected news, unexplained events, and so on." She raised her eyebrows suggestively.

"Oh, you mean about, er, Scabbers," said Harry, catching on.

He and Ron nodded in approval, while Hermione packed the newspaper away to read later, instead taking a look at her own schedule.

"Hermione," said Ron, frowning as he looked over her shoulder, "they've messed up your

timetable. Look, this morning – nine o'clock, divination, and underneath that, arithmancy, nine o'clock!"

"I'll manage. I've fixed it all with Professor McGonagall."

"I know you're good, Hermione," said Ron, laughing, "but no one's that good. How're you supposed to be in two classes at once?"

"Hermione," Harry said pointedly. They had talked about it the evening before, and he had insisted they had to tell Ron about the time-turner, while she had been indecisive.

Hagrid's appearance just then saved her yet again from making up her mind. He was swinging a dead polecat from one enormous hand and grinned broadly at them as he passed them on his way to the head table.

"All righ'?" he said eagerly. "Yer in my firs' ever lesson! Right after lunch! Bin up since five getting' everythin' ready… hope it's okay… me, a teacher hones'ly…"

They said goodbye to Fred and George and headed to their first class of the year. The divination classroom was apparently at the top of the North Tower, a good ten minutes' walk from the great hall. But Hermione and Harry also had arithmancy at the same time.

"Which one first?" asked Harry, once they were out of everyone else's earshot.

"Arithmancy, I think," said Hermione.

"So, wait," said Ron, looking disappointed. "You two aren't coming to divination?"

"No, we are." Hermione rolled her eyes at Ron's comically exaggerated frown, and Harry's eye roll. "Oh, alright. We'll explain how – even though Professor McGonagall made us promise to keep it a secret. But after classes – it's a, er, delicate matter."

Ron's eyebrows had climbed up his forehead, but he agreed to wait for the explanation.

They had never been to the North Tower before and the journey through the castle to get there was a long one. Hermione grabbed Harry's arm once they had reached the seventh floor, and made sure they would stay behind a bit. As soon as Ron had gone around a corner, she rushed him in the opposite direction.

"That's where we'll rejoin him after arithmancy," she decided. "The arithmancy classroom is on the seventh floor, and should be somewhere nearby…"

It was not difficult to find. Several students from their year were already waiting in front of the classroom when they got there. A large fraction of them were Ravenclaw students. While each of the other three houses was also represented, none of the Gryffindor students were ones that Harry interacted with much – except for Hermione. Malfoy, unfortunately, was also there, though without any of his gaggle of cronies and hangers-on.

At exactly nine o'clock, Professor Vector, the arithmancy teacher, opened the door and they streamed in. She herself was a nondescript, middle-aged woman dressed in plain brown robes. The classroom was reminiscent of a cinema theatre, with the rows of seats going up in height, and all the focus on the blackboard, which took up the entire front wall of the room. This was not going to be a practical class.

"Welcome to your first ever arithmancy class," said Professor Vector. "Though as some of you may already know, you've already encountered arithmancy in several other subjects in your previous years of schooling."

Harry did know this from Sirius and it served to reassure him. Hermione, sitting next to him, was instead becoming agitated, already beginning to mutter about formulas they had learned in transfiguration. She got to name them a moment later, when Professor Vector asked the class if they could give examples of where they had come across arithmancy. Professor Vector picked a number of students – but only those who had raised their hands – and let Hermione answer more than once, to name formulas from their theoretical transfiguration and charms classes, as well as the bits of theory that usually preceded the potions classes.

Emboldened by the fact that there had not been a wrong answer yet, Harry also raised his hand. "Er, astronomy?" he said, when he was called.

"Care to be more specific, Mr Potter?"

Harry felt his face heat, especially when Hermione's hand shot into the air next to him. "Calculating orbits?" he tried again.

"Yes, that's right," said Professor Vector and then moved on to the next student, much to Harry's relief.

Someone even said muggle mathematics. This caused a backlash, as other students – Malfoy most of all – answered out of turn that arithmancy was completely different. Professor Vector refuted them, agreed that mathematics was indeed the mundane part of arithmancy, and even decided to demonstrate. She wrote a calculation on the blackboard, which rearranged itself as magical calculations tended to do. Then she began again, writing the calculation in muggle terms Harry was mostly familiar with from his primary school, which grew and grew in length and took up a large part of the blackboard, until it arrived at the same result as before.

"Somewhat unwieldy, as you can see, but muggles have found more than one fascinating bypass around their lack of magic." She turned back to the class. "Is everyone finished copying so I can erase this?"

Harry was not the only one who reached frantically for some parchment and quill, amid disapproving glances from Hermione, who had indeed been copying down the calculation and was done a moment later.

"You may all be familiar with perhaps the best-known application of arithmancy – predicting future events. However, you'll – hopefully – see in this class that it is used in a myriad of ways, and is an essential tool for studying other areas of magic," Professor Vector began to lecture while they were writing. "Arithmancy is – broadly speaking – a systematic study of quantity, structure, space and change. The sorts of formulas you've been learning for transfiguration and charms – and to a lesser extent for potions, as well – fall into that last category – the study of change. You've encountered some arithmantic study of space in your astronomy lessons. The study of quantity and structure you've probably seen less of – though most of you were probably taught some basics of the former before coming to Hogwarts. Arithmantic structures, on the other hand, tend to be mostly unknown to new students – and can seem rather _different_."

Professor Vector was eager to move on, and began erasing part of the board so she could write more. Before Harry was done writing down the first calculation, there was more writing appearing to be copied down, at astonishing speed.

"Let's see if you remember learning this in your transfiguration class," said Professor Vector. "Professor McGonagall does like to derive the formulas you use for computations, doesn't she? For the most part, in your other subjects, you can just remember the formulas you're taught. You can use them without really understanding the arithmancy behind them. Here in this class, of course, we'll focus on how such formulas are derived – are shown to hold true…"

Harry's wrist was beginning to cramp by the time he had caught up to copying down the calculation. He vaguely remembered it from his second year transfiguration classes, but could not actually focus on it – most of his attention was taken up by writing at top speed.

Professor Vector finally stepped away from the blackboard, chalk still in hand pointing to what she had written. "As you can see here, arithmancy is an important tool in understanding – and describing – the change due to magical and mundane forces.

"This year, we'll be focusing on beginning to understand the mysterious arithmantic structures underlying words. Our magic is worked with words – spells. Yet, this is a topic which is still only partially understood. We will begin to investigate how different words bound magical forces in different ways, how the actions of a word are determined, and how we can determine if we have arrived at a stable spell. Please open your books, _Numerology and Grammatica…"_

It was a long lesson. Knowing that he would actually be repeating that one hour, only to learn something new, suddenly sounded less fun to Harry. He followed slowly behind Hermione, who was excited to share with him how much she had liked the lesson. Harry was more ambivalent, but let his friend bask in her enjoyment.

They went to the corner where they had parted with Ron. Hermione pulled at the chain of the time-turner, which she wore around her neck, under her robes. "We still have four-and-a-half minutes before I turn back the time," she said.

The waiting itself was boring – made more so by the excitement Harry felt at using the time-turner for the first time. Once Hermione deemed it the right moment, she threw the thin, gold chain around Harry's neck, too, and turned the hourglass once.

The corridor dissolved. Harry had the sensation that he was flying very fast, backwards. A blur of colours and shapes rushed past him, his ears were pounding, he tried to yell but could not hear

his own voice – and then he felt solid ground beneath his feet, and everything came into focus again. He was standing next to Hermione, still in the same corridor.

"Let's have a look at the map," said Hermione. "I'm so glad we have it. Can you imagine having to do all the things Professor McGonagall was telling us last night, just so no one would see us?"

Harry smirked, as they studied the map. Their past selves and Ron were walking towards them.

"Here, that's where we can hide," Hermione pointed out an alcove. "As soon as our past selves turn around, we can join Ron."

They watched the map, to time it exactly. As far as Harry could tell, Ron did not notice a thing, focused as he was on finding the way. They followed him across an unfamiliar landing, where there was nothing but a large painting of a bare stretch of grass hanging on the stone wall. Before Ron and Hermione could disagree on which way to turn next, the main inhabitant of the painting – a short, squat knight called Sir Cadogan – returned. Strange as he was, he showed himself willing to lead them to the North Tower, running along the paintings in the corridor. They hurried after him, to a narrow spiral staircase, and from there to a tiny landing, where most of the other students were already assembled.

Harry soon discovered that having to climb a ladder let down from a trapdoor to get to the classroom was by far not the strangest thing about the divination class. The overheated, darkened attic room, covered in too much chintzy fabric was filled with at least twenty round tables that would have fit better into an old-fashioned tea shop. As for the teacher herself – once she had finally stepped into view – Harry thought Professor Trelawney resembled a large, glittering insect: very thin, wearing over-large glasses and an abundance of jewellery and floaty fabric.

Harry suddenly understood what McGonagall had meant when she said arithmancy and divination were an unusual combination.

In bewilderment, he listened to Trelawney make prediction after prediction concerning the students in the room – from asking Neville if his grandmother was well, to telling Lavender that what she feared most would happen on October 15th. He kept an open mind, liking the fact that many of the Gryffindors he interacted with were there, and that Malfoy was absent from this class. He shared a grin with Ron at Hermione's put-out expression, when they were told books would not take them very far in this class without inborn talent. He tried his best to do as instructed, looking at the dregs in Ron's cup, and comparing them to the symbols to be found in his textbook.

Then Harry made the mistake of laughing. Ron was looking at Harry's cup, trying to decide what the dregs resembled the most – alternating between a hippo and a sheep.

Professor Trelawney was not amused. She snatched the cup from Ron's hands and proclaimed for everyone to hear to be seeing a falcon – a symbol of a deadly enemy.

Hermione, to Harry's astonishment, said in a loud whisper, "But everybody knows about Harry and You-know-who." She would not back down under Trelawney's stare, much to her friends' admiration, who had never seen her talk to a teacher in such a fashion.

Trelawney, instead of reacting to her, went back to Harry's cup, making more unpleasant predictions, ending with a scream. "My dear boy – my poor dear boy – no don't ask me…" But with all the attention on her, she went on to say, her eyes opened dramatically, "My dear, you have the grim."

"What?" Harry was taken aback, barely registering the horror spread over the faces of many of his classmates. His mind immediately went to Sirius, suddenly worried if Trelawney could tell that there really was a connection—

"The grim, my dear, the grim!" cried Professor Trelawney, who looked shocked that Harry had not understood. "The giant, spectral dog that haunts churchyards! My dear boy, it is an omen – the worst omen – of death!"

Harry felt anger rise in him. "Well, I think the grim is misunderstood!"

Harry did not know how his answer would have been taken, but thankfully, Hermione distracted everyone by looking at Harry's cup and then loudly stating that the dregs did not look like a grim at all. Trelawney, with mounting dislike, dismissed her words, but the whole episode had put an end to the strange class. They were dismissed early.

Harry chose a seat at the very back of the transfiguration classroom, to avoid the stares. Apparently, the gossip from the divination students had spread quickly through the entire class. He wanted to focus on what McGonagall was telling them about animagi, excited to learn as much as he could about the topic. Everyone else's attention seemed to be on him, however – even when McGonagall transformed into a tabby cat in front of their eyes.

Hermione had to explain the situation to their preplexed teacher, who grew obviously angry, though she tried not to let it show. McGonagall told them directly that it was Trelawney's habit to predict the death of a student every year, making Hermione laugh. Harry breathed a sigh of relief, less worried now that Trelawney knew could guess anything dangerous about Sirius.

"Ron, cheer up," Hermione said at lunchtime. "You heard what Professor McGonagall said."

"Harry," Ron said in a low, serious voice, looking concerned. "You think she was talking about _Snuffles_?"

Hermione turned to him, surprised, but recovered quickly. "I don't think so. She was very sure it was an omen of death – which, clearly, Snuffles is _not_."

Ron disagreed, getting angry, and Hermione answered by dismissing Trelawney and divination altogether as guesswork, getting angry in turn when Ron reminded her how Trelawney had claimed Hermione did not have talent for the subject. She began a heated reply, unfavourably comparing divination to arithmancy, looking to Harry to agree with her.

"I just," Harry began slowly, "I'm still hoping we'll get to learn more about prophecies in divination."

His quiet reply settled Hermione's ire to a sulky, put-out expression, while Ron looked somewhat cheered.

"Wait, when did you two have arithmancy?" asked Ron a moment later.

Hermione looked like she would not reply, but then she relented, letting go of her anger. "I told you, we'll explain after classes," she near-whispered.

There was one more unpleasant surprise in store for them before the lessons for the day were finished. They had care of magical creatures after lunch, and Hagrid had prepared something special for their first lesson – he introduced them to hippogriffs. Not wanting Hagrid's class to be a failure, Harry reluctantly agreed to be the first student to approach the strange beasts, amid the jeers from Malfoy and his cronies – who were unfortunately taking divination as well – and the frightened comments of Parvati and Lavender, cautioning him against danger because of Trelawney's predictions.

Harry did well enough, managed to get the hippogriff named Buckbeak to bow back to him, and even flew on the hippogriff's back around the paddock.

Then it was everyone else's turn, and Malfoy, arrogant and jealous of Harry's success, managed to insult Buckbeak until the hippogriff sliced through his arm with his talons. That put an end to the lesson. The class followed behind Hagrid, who carried Malfoy to the hospital wing. The Slytherins were all shouting about Hagrid, Pansy Parkinson demanding that he be sacked.

Harry, Ron and Hermione went to the Gryffindor Tower, worried for their friend, and nervously debating what would happen.

Hermione got out her newspaper and opened it to a small article at at the very end. "I wonder what Malfoy's father will make of it," she said to the boys. "Look!"

It was an article in the gossip column, about Lucius Malfoy donating a lot of money to St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies. It talked about Malfoy seeking a new social function, after having been sacked from his position as a Hogwarts school governor under suspicious circumstances.

"You think he'll go after Hagrid because we lost him his position on the board of governors?" asked Ron. He sounded chagrined, and very much interested in his friend's opinion again.

Hermione nodded, looking worried.

"But it was Malfoy's fault!" said Harry. "They can't fire Hagrid because Malfoy refused to listen – and anyway, he wasn't hurt all that badly. Madam Pomfrey would've healed him in an instant!"

They decided to shelve their worry until dinnertime, after they had seen how Hagrid was doing.

"So… about that arithmancy class – what did you two want to tell me?" Ron then asked.

Reluctantly, Hermione followed the boys out of the common room, and into an empty classroom. She pulled the time-turner out from under her robes, to show to Ron, and then told him what it was.

"That's brilliant!" said Ron, clearly envious. "Think of all the things you can do with it—"

"We're only supposed to use it to attend classes!" Hermione said at once.

"Oh, come on! You can't tell me you're not tempted. Hey, maybe we could even use it to help Hagrid! What if we go back and stop Malfoy from being an idiot—"

"Weren't you listening!" hissed Hermione angrily. "You'd be breaking every rule about time-turners—"

"Who cares about rules, it's Hagrid's future on the line," Ron replied hotly.

"I thought it couldn't be done?" said Harry, recalling what McGonagall had explained to them the night before.

"Exactly!" Hermione agreed. "You can't undo what's already been done! That'd violate fundamental laws of magic. And if you try, horrible accidents can happen – to your future self. The past will still remain unchanged."

"That's what most of those rules are for," Harry explained to a disappointed Ron. "To keep such accidents from happening. You can't undo the past. McGonagall explained that it's best to simply think of the time-turner as something that'll let you be in two places at once—"

"Yes, that's right," said Hermione. "Time-turners are only given to very _responsible_ people for a reason. Like healers at St Mungo's, when they have to treat more than one patient who needs urgent care, and so the specialist healers need to be in two places at once—"

"But when you use the time-turner, one copy of you knows exactly what the other's doing," said Ron. "And if you plan things well, you could still do a fair few things with another version of you running around."

Harry considered this before nodding slowly, despite Hermione's put-out expression.

Harry, Ron and Hermione were among the first to reach the great hall at dinnertime, but Hagrid was not there. At the Slytherin table, meanwhile, a large group of students were huddled together ominously. Harry was sure they were cooking up their own version of how Malfoy had been injured.

Back in the crowded Gryffindor common room after dinner, Hermione half-heartedly suggested doing the transfiguration homework, while they waited until it was late enough to safely call Sirius. The boys agreed, but were distracted with their worry for Hagrid, stealing glances out of the window towards the grounds.

"There's a light on in Hagrid's window," Harry said suddenly.

His friends agreed, and they went to visit their friend. Hagrid was, unsurprisingly, in a state. He had obviously been drinking, and when prompted, told them that Malfoy was claiming his arm was still causing him a great deal of pain – even though Madam Pomfrey had healed the cut immediately.

"He's faking it," said Harry at once.

Hagrid then told them that the school governors had been informed, who apparently thought that hippogriffs should not have been introduced to the third-years so early on.

"It's all _Malfoy's_ fault, Hagrid!" said Hermione earnestly.

"We're witnesses," said Harry. "You said hippogriffs attack if you insult them. It's Malfoy's

problem that he wasn't listening. We'll tell Dumbledore what really happened."

"Yeah, don't worry, Hagrid, we'll back you up," said Ron.

Hagrid hugged both boys, agreed to stop drinking and did his best to sober up, by dunking his head in a water barrel. Much to the boy's annoyance, he then remembered that Harry was supposed to be in danger from Sirius, and shouted at the three of them for wandering the grounds after dark, before escorting them back to the castle.

~HP~

Harry left his dorm room armed with map, mirror and invisibility cloak. Hermione was holding some parchment and quill, when he rejoined her in the still crowded common room.

"Wait," said Ron, before they left. "I – Can I come along?" he mumbled.

Harry shrugged, looked around to reassure himself that no one was paying them too much attention, and then led his friends to another empty classroom. His friends gathered around him, pushing chairs closer. Hermione laid out the parchment on the nearest desk, already prepared to take notes.

Sirius laughed at the sight of them. "Ah, so the two of you have decided to become animagi as well, I take it?"

Ron grew red as his friends' gazes landed on him. He had not said anything to them about wanting to join them in learning the animagus transformation. "What? At least I'll have a bit more time," he said defensively. "I don't have quidditch practice, and I don't have nearly as many classes as you, Hermione. Besides, if Pettigrew could do it…"

"Then so can you," Sirius agreed immediately. "As long as you're willing to put in the work. It'll be more fun this way. You can all work on it together."

Hermione was itching to start asking questions, but Harry forestalled her. "Sirius, where are you?" he asked, looking with some astonishment at the background he could see in the mirror.

"Ah, yes, that." Sirius' face dimmed. "I suppose I should explain…"

The background shifted, as Sirius swivelled his mirror around, to show more of the room he was in. With some surprise, Harry realised it was a dusty, old library, grandly decorated once upon a time, but now fallen into disrepair.

"This is the inside of my parents' house," said Sirius. "It now technically belongs to me, because they've passed away—"

"But isn't it really dangerous for you to be there?" Hermione asked at once. "Wouldn't that be the first place the aurors would look for you?"

"They can try – it's heavily warded against intruders. Besides, it's known that I ran away from home and hated my family – that I hate this place—"

"But you're there right now!" Hermione said, frowning.

"And the wards are still holding," said Sirius firmly. "And have done so for a while. This is not the first time I've come here. I spent part of last year here as well – especially the winter. It's also where I got my wand—" He held it in front of the mirror. "It's my first wand, actually, which got left behind here when I ran away. A bit odd to have it back…

"Anyway, back to the business at hand. I've come back here, because of the library. You didn't think I could teach you about the animagus transformation entirely from memory, did you? We'll be needing a fair few books. Not all of them are here, but there's enough to get us started." He showed them a stack of books he had set aside on the ground.

"Hey, maybe we can meet up, so you can give us the books!" Harry said immediately.

"We might have to do that eventually," agreed Sirius, and Hermione closed her mouth, swallowing her objections. "For now, though, let me explain what I can. So, the animagus transformation. It's a fairly involved process, that'll require you to create individual spells to help you transform into your animagus forms—"

"How do we find out what our animagus forms are?" asked Ron.

"By creating the spell. You don't get to find out beforehand." Sirius smirked at their disappointed faces. "Though you can discover aspects of it if you choose to learn the transformation with each word you find." He frowned. "Maybe I should start from the beginning. So. There are three stages to the animagus transformation. The first is learning the animagus spell that puts you into the animagus mindset. It's _Amato Animo Animato Animagus_ , and I'll explain how it's cast in a little while. As for its effect, it's designed to help you find the words that'll become part of your individual spell. Once you've found the words, you'll need to calculate their numerological value—"

"Oh, we've heard about that in our arithmancy class, haven't we, Harry?" said Hermione excitedly.

"Yes, it's one of the first things you'll learn. So no need to worry, Ron. Even though you're not learning arithmancy, this is not so complicated that I can't teach it to you once it's needed."

Ron nodded, looking a bit embarrassed.

"After that, there's obviously the transfiguration itself," Sirius went on. "Now, it's theoretically possible to create the entire spell first, and then learn to transform with it, but that's very difficult, because then you'll have no idea what you're transforming into. The other way to do it, is to try a partial transformation with every word that you discover. That was our preferred method – mine and James' and Pettigrew's – back when we learned it. This method is not without its own drawbacks, of course. Until you've created the entire spell, you can't tell if it's going to be stable, so the partial transformations can be somewhat dangerous—"

"What?" said a dismayed Harry. "So, what if you create a spell and it's not stable? Does that then mean that you can't become an animagus?"

"No, no. Maybe I'm not explaining this well." Sirius grimaced, looking frustrated. "I meant the word you found might not become part of the final spell after all—"

"But then what about the numerological values, and all that?" said Hermione.

"Yes, well, I guess that's one of the more difficult aspects of the animagus transformation. It's about you, the very essence of you, summarised in a few words. Many of us are uncomfortable with some aspects of ourselves, and refuse to acknowledge them. That won't do for the animagus transformation. To end up with a stable spell, you must be honest with yourselves—"

"But that's about leaving words out of your spell, isn't it, not words you've found being unusable—"

"Very good, Hermione. You're right. But it's a related problem. The words you find might be close enough in meaning to the one required. That'll give them a high numerological value. But you should know by now that some spells might only differ by a syllable, yet have completely different effects.

"The animagus mindset puts you in a kind of detached state, where you can take a step back and view yourself from an outside point of view. It allows you to get to know yourself – if you're willing to face what you find. It won't be easy – especially because you're still so young. You'll have to keep casting the spell whenever you feel like you're doing something significant. And it might take a while—"

"Could we be too young, then?" asked Hermione, looking like she dreaded the answer. "Our personalities may not be fully formed—"

"No, that's not a problem. If you're old enough to cast the animagus spell, then you're old enough to transform. We all change, all the time. Yet, the animagus _form_ stays the same all our lives – though the _nature_ of the animal you become can change over the years, to reflect your growth." Sirius thought about it. "Actually, it might make matters a little worse, being so young. It's difficult to really know yourselves. I was not a whole lot older when I transformed, and honestly, some parts of my spell did surprise me…"

"Is that really the only way to do it?" asked Ron. "I mean, I want to do it, I do. But isn't there an easier way? Can't we just go through a dictionary, or something, and just calculate the – what was it—"

"Numerological values," supplied Hermione.

"Yeah, can't we just calculate those?"

Harry perked up, liking Ron's idea, until Sirius shook his head.

"I'm afraid not," he said. "The words have to relate to a specific aspect of you. Take the word 'brave', for instance. Half the Gryffindors would probably have some version of it in their spell. But for it to help you transform, it has to relate to something specific you've thought, experienced, done. It has to be linked to some defining moment." Sirius regarded his listeners, who looked a little overwhelmed and even somewhat discouraged.

"Well, there is an alternative, actually," he said with a grimace. "There's also a potion, that puts you into a deep trance, and kind of forces you to face your inner self. But there are two problems with it. First, the potion is very difficult to brew, takes ages and there are some truly disgusting aspects to it. You'd have to chew on the same mandrake leaf for an entire month, day and night, without any interruptions. None of us chose that method, either, so I wouldn't be much help. Second, you'd have to construct the entire spell with the information gleaned from that one trance, rather than having time to think through every aspect of your personalities, and coming to terms with things you might not like."

"I don't want the potion," said Harry after only a moment's thought. "I can be honest with myself, I think. Besides, the potion does sound disgusting."

"Yeah," agreed Ron. "I don't want to wait for the potion. I want to get started now."

Hermione hesitated for a moment, but then shook her head. "Better not risk brewing another secret potion this year. We really couldn't afford to have this one be discovered."

"Alright, then," said Sirius. He grabbed one of the books from the stack on the floor and leafed through it. "Here's how you cast the spell…"


	9. Chapter 9

Malfoy did not turn up in class the next day, suggesting all the more that he was trying his best to get Hagrid in trouble. Harry, Ron and Hermione took their worry into the weekend, talking it over while doing homework, or while mirror-calling Sirius to learn their animagus spell. Sirius, it seemed, was still irked by the whole acromantula business and at first agreed with the school governors that Hagrid should not have introduced hippogriffs in his first lesson. He soon relented, though, and agreed with them that there was reason to worry – that Lucius Malfoy would do what he could to harm Hagrid out of spite.

Hermione was making good progress with the animagus spell, while the boys were a little slower to pick it up. Despite this, it was Harry who brought up their duelling practice, telling his friends of his exercises with Dudley, and showing them the book his cousin had given him for his birthday. Ron was immediately for it, while Hermione hesitated, reminding them that they now had more subjects to learn.

"Well, it was your choice to pick all five electives, Hermione—" said Ron.

"Because I'm interested in all of them—" Hermione shot back.

"I agree that we don't have as much time this year," said Harry, before another argument could develop. "And we'll have even less once teaching really picks up, and the quidditch matches grow near. That's why I think we should train now, while we still have a bit of extra time."

Hermione did not need any more convincing and was soon the one leading the effort. She made the boys go through all the spells they had learned the year before and was happy to note that most of their skill was still there.

"So, we can all do the spells that we've learned in charms and should've learned in defence already, like the full-body bind, the knockback jinx, the severing charm, the freezing charm—"

"There's also the spells that aren't necessarily meant for duelling, like Wingardium Leviosa," added Harry. "Or the dancing feet spell – which isn't just used for silly things like making pineapples dance. Last year, several of the Slytherins used it in the duelling club – quite successfully."

"Yes, exactly. And we can all use it on humans now." Hermione did not look directly at Ron, who shifted, remembering that it had taken him the longest to learn the spell.

"The smokescreen one," added Ron.

"Yes, Fumos – another spell Lockhart didn't teach us, but we've managed on our own." This time, Hermione shot Ron an encouraging smile – he had done quite well with that spell. "And finally, we also know Inobservatus – one of the disillusionment spells that Professor Flitwick taught us in first year. We'll be having that one in charms class in a couple of months."

"Then there's the spells we copied from others – the leg-locker curse Malfoy used on Neville that we found in Viridian's book—"

"I still can't believe he could do that in first year," griped Hermione. "It should've been far too advanced – even for us it's still a bit…"

"The disarming spell Snape showed us in the duelling club—" Harry went on.

"And the shield charm, which Lockhart failed to demonstrate," added Ron.

This time, Hermione frowned. "Separately, our shields are still not very strong. Though they're alright when cast in pairs, and pretty good when we all cast them together."

"And the final spell – which is actually the spell we started our duelling practice with – we still can't cast separately. At all. We can only cast the Confundus charm all together, or you with one of us—" Harry pointed at himself and Ron, "—and even then, not very well."

Hermione waved off his objection, reminding him that the Confundus charm was very advanced. But she agreed to focus on it, spending a large part of the weekend on improving it, until Harry and Ron could successfully cast it on her.

Ron was the one who insisted that they should include the physical exercises as well. Harry agreed, and they had a look through the book on martial arts Dudley had given to Harry, to see what they could adapt for themselves. Hermione soon had to concede that she was not in good shape. Over the summer, she had lost a lot of the fitness she had managed to gain during their training in spring. She seemed a little unmotivated at first, but finally conceded that it was both important for duelling and something she needed to work on more. She agreed to make it a regular part of their training.

~HP~

Harry, Ron and Hermione knew their Monday classes would be important. There was potions in the morning with Snape, and there was a fair amount of uncertainty about how their evolving relationship with him would affect his interaction with them in class. Then, in the afternoon, they would have their first ever defence against the dark arts class with Remus Lupin, about whom they had heard a great deal from Sirius. While Harry had no other classes that afternoon, Hermione and Ron would also be having muggle studies, and then Hermione would be repeating that hour for her ancient runes class happening at the same time.

All of that was overshadowed, however, when Hermione opened her copy of the _Daily Prophet_ that morning, and the headline read that Pettigrew had been sighted by a muggle not too far from Hogsmeade. All three of them pored over the article all through breakfast, while also reassuring Percy – whose eyes had instantly been drawn to the newspaper in their hands – that they were not unduly worried.

The double potions class turned out to be more unpleasant than they had perhaps hoped. Snape did not react, beyond telling them idly to settle down, when Malfoy swaggered into the classroom midway through potions with his arm bandaged and in a cast – finally returning to his classes after getting attacked by Buckbeak. Snape then forced Ron – and later Harry – to prepare Malfoy's ingredients for the shrinking solution, which they were brewing for the first time that day. Malfoy himself brought up Hagrid with a nasty smirk, and shamelessly told Harry and Ron that his father was indeed working on getting Hagrid fired.

Harry, hands shaking with anger, accused Malfoy that he was putting on a show, that he was not injured at all, but merely pretending – just to get Hagrid fired.

"Well," said Malfoy, lowering his voice to a whisper, " _partly_ , Potter. But there are other benefits, too. Weasley, slice my caterpillars for me."

Then, while Neville was struggling with his potion, and being put down by Snape for all to hear, Seamus turned to Harry, to bring up Pettigrew's sighting. Malfoy listened with rapt attention, as Seamus recounted the same details Harry had read in the Daily Prophet.

Ron, noticing this, turned around. "What, Malfoy? Need something else skinned?"

Malfoy, eyes shining malevolently, leaned across the table towards Harry. "If Pettigrew was there, Black can't have been too far away. Thinking of trying to catch him single-handedly, Potter?"

"Or maybe I'll catch Pettigrew while he's all by himself," said Harry offhandedly.

It was only Malfoy's thin lips pulling into a mean and knowing smile that gave Harry pause. "Because that's the only way you'd risk it – only if the weaker one is all by himself. Otherwise, you'd leave it to the dementors, would you?" Malfoy followed this up by needling him about Sirius, and all the reasons Harry would have for wanting revenge. All expected, considering that Malfoy likely knew that Sirius was Harry's godfather.

Harry was left with the unpleasant sense that Malfoy thought he knew more than Harry. He did not have time to dwell on the thought, however, because Snape called an end to their class, before proceeding to test Neville's shrinking solution on Trevor, his toad, while everyone was watching. Thankfully, Hermione's whispered instructions had been enough to repair Neville's botched potion and it worked correctly, turning Trevor into a tadpole. The Gryffindors cheered. Snape turned Trevor back with a sour face, using a swelling solution. Then, instead of conceding that Neville had done well, he took five points from Hermione, for helping Neville.

Once Hermione had finally caught up with them – her bag splitting at the seams because of all the books she was carrying – Ron wanted to know why she had not lied to Snape, told him Neville had brewed his potion by himself.

Hermione shook her head. "He wanted to take points. He would've found a reason, regardless."

"Well, that settles that, then," sighed Harry. "He's going to be as nasty as ever."

"He'll have to be," said Hermione, her tone indicating that what she was saying ought to be self-evident. "He has to try to get back into Lucius Malfoy's good graces, after helping to thwart his plans."

"I guess," said Harry. "So he'll have to be horrible to us. But Neville?"

"Yeah," said Ron. "What's Neville done to him? Snape has no excuse for that—"

"Well, he's a Gryffindor, and not so great at potions – like certain Slytherins. Malfoy's going to be insufferable in potions classes," sighed Harry, "and Snape's only going to encourage it…"

"Because Snape's fond of Draco Malfoy," said Hermione slowly.

"At least that's what he hinted at." Ron nodded, thinking of the same conversation they had had with the potions master some months ago.

"Actually, did I tell you what Sirius had to say about that?" said Harry.

Ron snorted. "You mean besides what he says about everything Snape does in general?"

Harry snorted a laugh. "Yes, besides that. He thought it a bit odd that Snape would be that honest with us. I know it's Sirius' general opinion of Snape, pretty much, but—"

Hermione frowned. "No… I don't know. Sirius might have a point, don't you think?"

Ron nodded. "Snape's been a spy for long enough, hasn't he? I reckon it's not that easy to get him to admit to something he doesn't want you to know."

Harry shook his head slowly. "Why, though? Why'd he want us to think he has such a high opinion of Malfoy?"

"Well, to be fair, Malfoy is one of the best students in our year," Hermione admitted grudgingly.

"So what? He's vile. And Snape might like that a Slytherin student is best at his subject – after all the effort he puts into achieving that, by being awful to everyone else – but why would he tell us?"

Ron groaned. "Really? The year's barely begun, and we're already trying to figure out what awful thing Snape's up to? Come on, let's have lunch…"

Putting him out of their minds proved more difficult than expected, as they saw him again that day, when Lupin took his class to the staff room for his first defence against the dark arts lesson. Snape was the only teacher present, and he got up as soon as he saw them.

The sneer on his face; his parting words, both a slur against Lupin – saying he would not stay to witness what was to follow, and an insult to Neville – warning Lupin against entrusting Neville with any significant tasks unless Hermione was whispering instructions to him; all this made the students more inclined to like Lupin, just to contradict the disliked potions master.

Not that it was needed much: Lupin had won most of them over by dealing with Peeves on the way to the staff room. Peeves had been stuffing chewing gum into the nearest keyhole and had begun singing 'Loony, loopy Lupin,' as soon as he saw them. After Lupin had managed to foil him by shooting the chewing gum up his nostril with a nifty little spell, most of the students had been impressed by their new teacher, despite his shabby appearance.

Harry caught Snape's eye, scowling at him for what he said about Neville. The scowl he got in return quickly turned into a sneer, but not before Snape had glanced at Lupin and then back at Harry – who knew of the history between the two teachers, even if they were unaware that he did.

Another thought made Harry pause. A mere few days ago, before Sirius had told him who Lupin was, he had been ready to base his opinion of the new teacher on Snape's reaction. Would he have actually done so, though, despite the favourable impression Lupin had made on him? Would he have gone against his own judgement in favour of Snape's? Especially after Snape had done his best once again to make himself disliked?

Lupin was looking a lot healthier than he had on the train – the effects of the full moon had apparently worn off. He seemed unfazed by Snape's reaction, was Harry's first assessment – until he noticed the glances Lupin was shooting at him and his friends, while he explained to Neville how best to deal with the boggart, given his fear of Snape.

Harry, Ron and Hermione had strongly suspected that Lupin had heard their discussion on the train, and this seemed to prove it. They had tried to undo the damage as soon as they had noticed, mentioning their dislike of Snape, but Harry suspected it might not have been enough. Lupin kept giving them odd looks while they laughed with everyone else at the boggart turned into Snape dressed in Neville's grandmother's outfit. A sense of unease took hold of Harry. He knew from Sirius that Lupin himself was trustworthy enough, but Snape's secret was such that even a casual, unintentional slip of the tongue by someone who did not understand the situation well enough might be disastrous, he was aware.

Hermione, who normally did not enjoy laughing at teachers had made sure to laugh at the Snape-boggart, Harry noticed. This likely meant she was thinking along the same lines as him.

So preoccupied was Harry with this worry, that it took him a moment to notice that Lupin had not called either him, Ron or Hermione to tackle the boggart. In fact, when Ron tried to step forward, Lupin stepped in front of him, and Harry could see the boggart momentarily take on the appearance of a full moon, before the spell was cast and the moon deflated like a balloon.

As soon as Harry pointed this out, Hermione caught on to what was going on. "Professor, I'm not afraid of basilisks," she said loudly enough to draw attention.

Lupin looked at her with some surprise, but then gestured towards the boggart, in the shape of a single, bloody eyeball. "Go ahead, then," he said.

Hermione stepped forward, and the boggart turned into Professor McGonagall, who began to enumerate all the reasons why Hermione was not doing well enough and would fail all her classes. The Riddikulus died on Hermione's lips, as her classmates got to listen in on her fears.

"Turn her into a cat!" shouted Ron quickly, before the moment could lengthen.

Hermione regrouped, cast the spell, and as Ron had suggested, turned McGonagall into her animagus form, turning her criticisms into meows.

"Excellent!" said Lupin. "Ron, how about you next?"

Ron was already stepping forward, turning the boggart into an acromantula. Several people shouted, but Ron was ready, casting the spell to make the spider's legs vanish. It rolled over and came to a halt at Harry's feet. But once again, Professor Lupin interfered, stopping Harry from facing the boggart. Neville got to have another go at it instead, finally making it explode.

Harry wanted to bring this up with his friends, but did not get the chance. First, Hermione gave an embarrassed thanks to Ron, and then she brought up Lupin and Snape, and what the former might have overheard them say about the latter.

"And of course Professor Lupin overhearing us isn't nearly as dangerous as, say, Malfoy," she said. "We mustn't slip up like that again. We really need to make sure everyone believes that we dislike Snape—"

"That's not going to be a difficult task, Hermione," said Ron, rolling his eyes at her behind her back.

Hermione argued some more, but she was distracted, already leafing through her ancient runes and muggle studies books. Soon enough, it was time for her and Ron to go to their class, before Harry had brought up his own grievance.

Left alone with his thoughts, Harry wondered about why Lupin had prevented him from tackling the boggart, and was not liking the reasons he was coming up with. At first, Lupin might have thought Harry would turn the boggart into a basilisk, but what about after he had let Hermione and Ron have a go at it? Did he still think Harry was afraid of something more dangerous than his classmates – like Voldemort? He could have asked – he had already been wrong about Hermione's and Ron's fears. Harry had been thinking of a dementor, actually, and could have told Lupin so.

Maybe it was because Lupin had seen Harry collapse on the train, and thought he was not up to much? Had he thought Harry would pass out again? And maybe he would have, the traitorous part of his mind whispered, faced with another dementor.

Harry had to wait for some time to share his thoughts on the matter. When his friends returned an hour later, Hermione was explaining in great detail what a refrigerator was, and Ron actually seemed to be paying attention.

"How was it?" asked Harry.

"Not bad," said Ron. "It's mostly purebloods and a few halfbloods, but without Malfoy or any of his gaggle of friends. I'm pretty sure Hermione's the only one who actually has a tel-e-phone at home. Ernie Macmillan was so surprised when I said I'd been to the cinema."

Hermione only added that the magical perspective had been interesting, and then mostly wanted to gush about ancient runes. She did admit, though, that Malfoy and a fair few other Slytherins were in that class, making Harry grimace.

"Well, it's a bit of a posh subject, isn't it – ancient runes," said Ron. "Of course they'd be there."

To Harry, that made ancient runes sound like an awful class to have, but not wanting to dampen Hermione's enthusiasm, he instead switched topics, bringing up his disappointment about not having faced the boggart.

"Well, you still got points, didn't you?" said Ron.

Harry shrugged. "For answering an easy question." It had not been difficult to deduce that the boggart might get confused facing different people's fears. Besides, everyone had received points in that class.

"Well, you might get another chance next lesson," was Hermione's vague suggestion.

Harry doubted this, but let it go.

Later, Harry was once again joined by his friends when he called Sirius. There was the issue of Pettigrew's sighting to discuss.

"I have read the papers," Sirius said as soon as they brought up the subject.

Once again, they dared not ask him how.

"It does sound like he's headed towards Hogwarts again," Sirius admitted grudgingly. "Or that he never went very far in the first place – as unlikely as that may seem. You can't apparate on Hogwarts grounds, Pettigrew's unlikely to risk going through the Forbidden Forest if he can avoid it – Wormtail would not fare very well there, and apparating in and around Hogsmeade would risk detection by the aurors. So going through neighbouring muggle villages is likely the best option to get to Hogwarts…"

Once they were done discussing that topic, and Hermione was done asking more questions about the animagus spell, Harry recounted to Sirius their first lesson with Lupin. Once Sirius was finally done laughing about Boggart-Snape – it took a while, as he wanted all the gory details – he was the first to suggest Harry might talk to his new teacher to ask why he was not given the chance to face the basilisk. Harry liked the idea at once, and suddenly the thought came to him that he might ask Lupin what he thought of the other two Marauders being hunted by the law. Hermione immediately told him not to, and even Sirius cautioned that Lupin might notice Harry was not entirely unbiased about the topic.

"Besides, what's he going to tell you? He probably thinks the same thing everyone else does. And even if Remus might find reason to doubt, he wouldn't say so to you. It'll just be a painful topic for him." Sirius looked resigned when saying this.

Harry had to agree that his teacher was unlikely to confide in a student, especially one he had only recently met, but thought that simply his reaction might be interesting. Sirius still cautioned him, but Harry could tell his heart was not in it. Clearly, Sirius also wanted to know how Lupin would react.

As predicted, Harry did not get another chance to face a boggart in the next defence lesson, but at least he found it enjoyable. The same could not be said for some of his other classes. Hagrid seemed to have lost his confidence and the care of magical creatures class had become extremely dull. Divination was far worse, with Trelawney's eyes filling with tears every time she looked at him. This was made worse by the students who did hold divination – and Trelawney – in high esteem, like Parvati and Lavender, and who started using hushed voices whenever they spoke to Harry, as though he were on his deathbed. Arithmancy, at least, while hardly Harry's favourite subject, was useful, he supposed.

Lupin was not in the great hall during one lunchtime later in the week, and when Harry checked his map, he found that the defence teacher was in his office. Hermione told him once again to be careful. Harry nodded and hurried to Lupin's office. The door was open when he got there.

"Harry?" said Lupin as soon as he saw the boy approach. "What are you doing here?" His tone sounded mildly curious, but otherwise pleasant enough.

"Er, I wanted to ask you something about this week's lessons," said Harry.

Lupin invited him into his office. Before accepting the seat he was being offered, Harry noticed a large, dark box in one corner of the office, which emitted a strange, dull thud, as if something from the inside was trying to break out.

Lupin followed his glance. "Ah, that's going to be the subject of our next lesson."

"Is it another boggart?" Harry asked hopefully.

"I'm afraid not. It's a red cap, actually."

"Professor, I wanted to ask you about the boggart. Why didn't you let me fight it?" Harry came straight to the point.

Lupin raised his eyebrows. "I would have thought that was obvious, Harry," he said, sounding surprised. "I assumed that if the boggart faced you, it would assume the shape of Lord Voldemort." Lupin frowned. "Or at least a basilisk. Even from the little I've heard of your life in the news, I had to assume that whatever frightened you had to be quite unpleasant for everyone else to see."

Harry was impressed that Lupin was willing to use Voldemort's name – something he had only ever heard from Dumbledore before. The rest of what he heard still made him frown. "I wasn't thinking of Voldemort – he's nowhere near. And you believed Ron and Hermione that they weren't afraid of basilisks. Well, neither am I. I was thinking of a dementor, actually."

"I see," said Lupin thoughtfully. "Well, well… I'm impressed." He smiled slightly at the surprised look on Harry's face. "That suggests that what you fear most of all is – fear. Very wise, Harry." He glanced around, then got up to grab his kettle from a shelf. "I was thinking of having a cup of tea. Some for you as well?"

"Er, alright, thanks. But…" Harry did not enjoy imitating Hermione, but could not see any other approach. "What about exams? Or are boggarts not going to be on the exam?"

"Ah, yes… it's possible that boggarts will be included in the exam. But I doubt they'd cause you any trouble." Lupin had produced boiling water by just tapping the kettle with his wand. "I've only got teabags, I'm afraid. But I daresay you've had enough of tea leaves?"

Harry twitched, even though Lupin's eyes were twinkling. "You heard about that?" He tried to sound unconcerned, hoping Lupin would not notice his discomfort. If he had heard Harry describe the grim as misunderstood—

"Professor McGonagall told me," said Lupin, passing Harry a chipped mug of tea. "She quite proudly told us – everyone who wanted to hear – that you're not the sort to be scared by omens in teacups."

No, after learning about the prophecy, some vague omen was not likely to unsettle him, thought Harry. He shrugged awkwardly, pleased to hear that his head of house thought him brave, but he was still unsure if Lupin knew about—

"So the grim is misunderstood, is he?" mused Lupin. He looked pensive, but his eyes watched Harry's reaction carefully.

"Er, w-well, I guess I like dogs." Harry did his best not to stumble over his words. He had had some time to consider his answer to this question after his unwise outburst in divination. The trick was to say the words in a convincing manner. "And the grim looks just like a big, black dog – like Fang." Harry was aware that he was pushing the truth here. No one would mistake Fang for the grim. "Oh, and Mrs Figg was saying—" Harry decided the best defence might be offence after all. "You know her, right?" His words – carefully speculative, to sound almost like a real question – hit right away.

Lupin regarded him with a fair amount of surprise. "Do you mean Arabella?"

"Er, yes. She's my neighbour. She's mentioned your name before, actually – er, just your first name. That's why I didn't recognise you at first…" Harry could feel his pulse speed up. He was of course lying – even if Mrs Figg really had mentioned Lupin – after careful and prolonged prodding by Harry.

"I-I see." Lupin really was discomfited by this.

"Anyway, she was helping me with my history homework. Witch hunts, you know. And she told me that muggles used to think owls were omens of death – because they were associated with witches and wizards. And they used to kill them for no reason." Harry decided that was laying it on thick enough.

"Ah… what did Arabella… I mean, did she mention anything – or anyone – else?"

"You mean Pettigrew and Black?" Harry did his best to look innocent, while inside he was cheering. Lupin had obligingly brought up the topic he himself wanted to talk about. "She did say you all went to school together…"

"Yes, well, yes." Lupin glanced away, then busied himself with his cup of tea. "I expect that creates a certain impression of me."

Harry shrugged awkwardly. Of course it did. Lupin being his dad's and Sirius' friend mattered a great deal to him. "Mrs Figg said nice things about you," he said instead. That, at least, was the truth.

Lupin smiled fleetingly. "I'm glad to hear. I can see you're courageous enough to look past my unfortunate connection to – those people. There's really not much that scares you, is there?"

"Er, well, I did meet them a few months ago." Harry considered his words, remembering Hermione's warnings. "Black actually helped us, and Pettigrew wasn't all that scary by himself. It was more that he was helping – well, the possessed Lockhart. But actually, we know it was Lucius Malfoy, who was behind the whole thing," he said conspiratorially.

Lupin did not look surprised at hearing this. "I see… Was that what you had expected from them? I mean, besides being alive – no one had been expecting that. But perhaps it was a relief to you, knowing your letter had nothing to do with—" Lupin stopped abruptly, seeing Harry's alarmed expression.

Harry reined in his reaction, berating himself for slipping up in front of Lupin yet again. Why, why had he not considered that other teachers might have been told about the letter as well? "I-I hadn't even thought about that letter for ages," he forced out. It was the truth, and sounded like it.

Harry sat up, angry at his own reaction. Such constant paranoia would not do. If he could not even talk to people like Lupin, then what hope was there of anyone ever believing Sirius anything at all? "What about you, Professor? You used to know them. Was what you heard about them what you were expecting?"

Lupin hesitated. "I'm afraid I stopped expecting to know them quite some time ago." He glanced away. "That's what the evidence is for, I suppose. Anyway," he shook off the sombre mood, "so you're not afraid of them, either. That leaves us with dementors – and perhaps Malfoy."

"I wouldn't say I'm afraid of Malfoy," Harry went on in a lighter tone as well. "I mean, I've enough sense to know how dangerous he is. But for now, he's been stopped, he's no longer a school governor." He shrugged, agreed to go back to the original topic. "So… you don't think I'll have any problems with the boggart on the exam?"

After more reassurances from Lupin, Harry left to rejoin his friends.

~HP~

In no time at all, the increased workload had become routine, if not always enjoyable. Potions class was the worst. After the story of the boggart assuming Snape's shape and Neville dressing it in his grandmother's clothes had spread through the school like wildfire, Snape had become particularly vindictive. His eyes flashed menacingly at the very mention of Professor Lupin's name, and he was bullying Neville worse than ever. Harry and his friends were also frequent targets of his ire – at least in class. Outside of class was a different matter, however. Harry's summer homework had been returned to him with thorough, constructive criticism. Snape had even read Hermione's entire essay for once – his comments extended until the end of the parchment.

Defence against the dark arts was a different matter altogether. It had become most people's favourite subject in no time, and Harry was certainly no exception. They had studied red caps, as promised, which turned out to be nasty little goblin-like creatures that lurked wherever there had been bloodshed. Harry had certainly been allowed to tackle them, and Lupin had been impressed by his skill and speed at using common hexes. (Harry had been holding back, of course.) Neville had found him, Hermione and Ron after class to thank them again for teaching him a few hexes the year before – when he had been helping them improve their shield. He had done better in class than anyone had expected of him – including Neville himself.

Then there were their extra-curricular activities. Despite the increased number of subjects and far superior defence teacher, they had not abandoned their duelling practice. On top of that, they now had their animagus project.

Hermione had figured out the animagus spell within a few days, but kept badgering Sirius every few days, demanding to know how he could be sure that she got it right – because for quite some time, it showed no effect. Sirius did his best to reassure her that this was not unusual, that it might take some time to find their words. He also suggested she might want to try casting the spell in more unusual situations than she had perhaps been trying thus far – after Hermione admitted that she had mostly been casting the spell while studying – convinced that that must be a fundamental part of her personality.

It finally happened during their second weekend at Hogwarts. Harry, Ron and Hermione were jogging early in the morning, before Harry had to go to his quidditch practice. The boys went ahead, even though Hermione had been trying to keep up valiantly, once again serious about their exercising. Then she gave a strangled noise, making Harry turn around. He pulled Ron back with him, when he saw her folded in on herself, crouching on the ground.

Hermione was actually laughing. "I did it!" she said breathlessly. "I finally did it. It was exactly like Sirius said – like a déjà vu, like I knew what would happen just a moment earlier than it did. And everything looked more sharply in focus – the edges more defined, but also more distant—"

"Yes, yes." Ron interrupted what was essentially a word-for-word recital of what Sirius had told them. "But what's the word you discovered?"

"I—" Hermione frowned. "I'm not sure. It was something to do with me being too stubborn to let myself get tired…" She hummed. "Maybe – persevering?"

The boys tried their best to hide their smirks – especially after Hermione began to grouse that her words had come during jogging rather than while doing something more productive – like studying.

Sirius congratulated her when they told him that evening. Hermione was immediately eager to attempt the next step – to learn how to calculate the numerological values. It was something each of them had to do for their own words. While Hermione was greatly enjoying arithmancy – much more so than Harry – she had still only just begun learning the subject, and found it very difficult to understand Sirius' explanations through the mirror. Harry, envious despite himself that she had made much faster progress than he had, was not looking forward to having to understand the same explanations himself in the – hopefully – not too distant future. When he glanced up, he saw that Ron looked at least as discouraged as he felt.

Then Sirius tentatively suggested that they could meet up so that he could give them some books. "I can't send them by owl – even if I had access to a decent sized owl. The books are just too heavy. I'd need a number of owls, and they'd most certainly attract too much attention…"

The boys were immediately for it, while Hermione kept cautioning against it.

"I know!" said Ron. "We could meet Sirius on your birthday, Hermione. It's next Sunday, isn't it? And Hagrid isn't going to let us do something fun this year—"

"Because there are dementors stalking the edges of the school grounds this year!" said Hermione.

Sirius settled them down before they could start arguing. He agreed to try explaining things through the mirror once more – in hopes that Hermione might get away without needing the books. Harry was sceptical about it – especially because he was sure that even if Hermione did manage, he and Ron would definitely be needing the books. He even got a little annoyed that now of all times – perhaps for the first time ever – Hermione was choosing to say no to books.

The issue resolved itself a couple days later. Hermione was doing homework in the library – they all were – when she suddenly jumped up, knocking her books to the ground, and alerting Madam Pince. With apologies to the stern librarian, Hermione pulled her friends into the corridor, so excited she was almost buzzing on the spot.

"I think I found another!" she squealed, barely out of earshot.

"What – another word?" asked Ron.

Hermione nodded fast. "Yes, yes. Oh! I was doing the transfiguration homework, and I kept thinking how useful that might become soon, for – you know – the actual transformation—" She lowered her voice to almost a whisper. "So I cast the spell – as I keep doing every chance I get, now. And the word must've something to do with working towards something, or having an aim, or… maybe something like purpose?"

Harry could tell he was not the only envious one at that point – Ron's envy was comically obviously painted on his face.

On the positive side, this finally tempted Hermione enough that she agreed to get the books from Sirius.


	10. Chapter 10

Sirius suggested the Shrieking Shack. "The dementors aren't allowed that close to Hogsmeade – the villagers might prove too tempting. The Whomping Willow is still well within Hogwarts grounds, as well. The dementors won't be too far away, but Hagrid lives close enough that they definitely won't be allowed to go there."

Having chosen the way out of Hogwarts was only the beginning of their planning. All sorts of details had to be discussed, until Hermione was satisfied that they would not be caught – or worse, be in danger from the dementors. The main point they debated the most was the use of the time-turner. Eventually, to appease Hermione, they decided they would only use it if it looked like they would be missed. The other point they argued about was whether or not to risk visiting any other places in Hogsmeade. Hermione put her foot down on that one and made the boys promise not to leave the Shrieking Shack.

The day before, on Saturday morning during breakfast, Harry received a letter from Dudley. This in itself was a perfectly ordinary event. However, the postscript of this letter was new:

_PS I got new boxing gloves. Red ones, this time._

Harry stared at the innocuous-looking sentence for a long moment, thoughts racing. Red. The mention of which in the postscript – rather than the main text – meant that the letter Dudley had received had been written in red ink. Had been intercepted.

Only after that information had finally sunk in, did he notice the unusual way Hedwig had behaved. She had not lingered at all, had not waited for him to give her a snack, but had instead taken off directly to the owlery. With a heavy heart, Harry had to admit that her behaviour would not have been enough by itself to alert him. Whoever had intercepted her, had done a far superior job than Dobby had the year before. Then, Hedwig had obviously fought and lost. Now…

Harry delayed sharing the information with his friends. Knowing Hermione was already worried about their planned trip to the Shrieking Shack the next day, he did not want to give her a reason to reconsider. He watched Ron banter with his brothers, watched Hermione write yet another essay, while they ate breakfast in the great hall. He would have quidditch practice soon. Perhaps it would be better to share the letter afterwards, when he would have enough time to discuss it—

Hermione was staring at him, her expression slowly turning into a frown. She must have seen something in his face, then, that told her of his unease. With a sigh, Harry handed over the letter. Hermione immediately looked at the postscript, well aware of their code system. She also spent looking at it longer than the one short line warranted, before kicking Ron under the table and then handing it over to him. She resumed her work once Harry had his letter back, but remained distracted, looking up every now and then, as if intending to say something.

Harry did not get a chance to discuss the matter with her until after his training, when Ron and Hermione met him outside of the changing rooms, looking resolved.

"We're still going," said Hermione, with a glance and a nod at Ron. "But, Harry, we need to be careful," she implored.

After breakfast the next morning, Harry led his friends out of the castle and towards the greenhouses. Once out of sight, he hid them all under his invisibility cloak, and slowly, they walked towards the Whomping Willow. There were not many people to evade, as almost everyone avoided the vicinity of the Whomping Willow. The next hurdle was keeping the branches of the violent tree from hitting them. Once Hermione was sure that no one was glancing their way – and not a second earlier, no matter how many times Ron told her to hurry up – she cast a spell to levitate a small rock over the knot at the base of the tree and drop it on it, momentarily freezing the branches. It took some manoeuvring to lower themselves into the tunnel, without removing the cloak, but finally they were inside and hidden from view.

Happy to be done with one dangerous part of their adventure, they set off, chatting cheerfully, their wands lighting the way.

Sirius met them still inside the tunnel, holding a torch lamp. "You'll need to extinguish your wands. It's better not to use any more magic from here on. Hogsmeade is being patrolled by aurors, and there are tracing spells everywhere."

They followed behind him in a more sombre mood, as the tunnel began to rise, twisted and reached a small opening, leading to a very disordered and dusty room. Paper was peeling from the walls; there were stains all over the floor; every piece of furniture was broken as though somebody had smashed it. The windows were all boarded up.

"Let's go upstairs," said Sirius, turning towards a door to their right, leading to a shadowy hallway.

"How did you get in here without magic?" Hermione asked him, her eyes travelling around the boarded windows.

"One of the windows can be opened without magic," Sirius pointed vaguely towards the bars on the windows. "We removed the locking spells as teenagers and replaced them with a solid lock – to make sure one of us could get out in animagus form, if necessary. Thankfully, it was never needed back then – but it proved useful now."

"Are you sure you weren't seen?" Hermione asked again, while they were climbing up the dusty, crumbling staircase.

"Quite sure – I sneaked in last night." Sirius shot her an amused look. "Good point, though. You know, Hermione, that sort of consideration for every detail is what makes a truly distinguished rule-breaker."

Hermione's response was a deep scowl.

They followed the footprints left in the otherwise thick layer of dust on the floor, left by Sirius over the previous hours. From the dark landing, they could see one door left open, a stripe of light falling from it. Inside, there was a magnificent four-poster with dusty hangings, already cluttered with items that Sirius must have brought with him – free of dust as they were.

Harry and Ron added the bags they had brought in the middle, as they all made themselves comfortable around the edge of the bed. Shouts of "Happy birthday!" followed, then Hermione's thanks. Then it was time for presents.

Ron went first. "This may not be much of a present…" From his bag, he produced two thin notebooks. As he leafed through them, it became obvious that they were filled with tightly-hand-written notes. "These used to be Bill's. Fred and George got him to hand them over to them, and they gave them to me. They're his notes, from his earliest apprenticeship days – about tracing spells—" He held up one of them. "—and protective enchantments." He showed the first page of the other, which said so in its title.

Hermione was delighted. She was not at all disappointed to find out that the notes contained little to no practical information about how to cast the spells. "It's not like we could learn these, anyway. Most of them would be far too difficult. But knowing what the aurors are capable of – what Pettigrew may be capable of – will be very useful."

Harry had decided against buying her a book. His previous year's present to her had been one – and had been a bit useless, because of how difficult to understand it was. This year, he had actually found something a bit more practical – in a junk shop in Diagon Alley, of all places.

Hermione regarded the contraption with some interest, pulling the straps apart to discover what it was.

"It's a harness for your wand," supplied Harry. "For when we jog. Your jogging clothes don't have the best pockets, do they?" He grimaced, realising she might not appreciate the criticism only after speaking the words.

"You're right!" Hermione looked happy, thankfully, rather than upset. "I keep fearing my wand'll go off at any moment." She fitted it on her arm, to try it out. "That's great, Harry. Thanks!"

Sirius had volunteered to supply the birthday cake after finding out it was Hermione's birthday. From the packaging, it was obvious the cake had come from a muggle shop – as had the elderflower cordial Sirius had also brought. Ron regarded the items with some curiosity, picking up the bottle to take a closer look at the printed label.

"There's tap water in the bathroom, to go with it," said Sirius. "I thought about making tea, but I'd rather not risk using magic here – even a little spell for heating water…"

They immediately agreed that the cordial was more than enough. The boys got busy to dig in, Ron expressing his surprise at how 'normal' the slice of cake on a paper plate and cordial in a paper cup, to go with it, tasted. Hermione, meanwhile, took a token bite out of her slice of cake before drawing Bill's notes closer to leaf through them.

"Sirius, you said first that we couldn't use magic here," she said. "But now you're saying it's just better not to risk it? So it's not like the trace, then? We might use magic and not be detected?"

Sirius nodded. "The trace is deep magic – the well-being of children and their families is involved, and that makes for some very powerful magic. There are no other tracking spells that are anywhere as strong. You can put on local alarms in some places – to detect intruders, or ill-intentions in general. Alarms to detect a specific person are much more difficult – though they exist."

Hermione was listening with rapt attention, and at the same time trying to look up the information in Bill's notes. Sirius halted her leafing though it at the appropriate entry, and she immediately marked the page.

"But there isn't any sort of alarm placed on the Shrieking Shack," went on Sirius. "I checked. Only the shops and pubs in Hogsmeade have those, as far as I could tell last night. So that leaves ordinary tracking spells. If the aurors are regularly checking for traces this far outside of the village – and at least they appeared to be doing so last night – then they'd be able to detect any use of magic in here – and trace it back to me. Or one of you – if you use magic—"

"So it's best if we don't use magic, in case you need to later on," Hermione caught on.

Sirius nodded. "It wouldn't do to have my trace overlapping with one of yours. I'd rather not have it be discovered that I was here at all, but if it can't be helped—"

"But we've disturbed the dust," said Harry. "It's clear to see that someone's been in here."

"To see by whom?" Sirius shrugged. "There's a good chance no one else'll see the inside of this house for years. Remus won't be coming here – he doesn't need to, now that the Wolfsbane potion exists. And why would anyone else come here?"

Hermione was appeased for the moment, and went back to her slice of cake. Ron and Harry also unpacked the other items they had brought: Ron's chess set and a deck of Exploding Snap cards. Sirius agreed to play chess with Ron, while Hermione agreed to a round of Exploding Snap with Harry.

Sirius and Ron were still in the middle of their chess game, looking engrossed, considering each move with great deliberation, by the time Hermione had tired of Exploding Snap.

"Sirius, there's something I'd been meaning to ask you," she began. "It's about your Veritaserum questioning—"

Harry frowned. This was hardly a pleasant topic – why she would want to bring that up when they were here to celebrate – to have fun—

"Yes?" Sirius did not look up from the board.

Hermione pursed her lips. "I just found it very surprising. I looked it up – information gained from Veritaserum questionings is rarely allowed in trials, and only if the defendant gave permission—"

"Well, I didn't even think to refuse." Sirius did not look up from the board when answering.

"But all Death Eaters were given Veritaserum – and few even got a trial afterwards. At least that's what I read. I can't imagine they were all happy to give permission."

Sirius sighed, though it was not clear if that was in response to Hermione's words or Ron's move. "That's true. The permission was more of a formality. They were questioning Death Eaters – for the most part – and regular procedures were suspended."

"But then couldn't you protest that—"

"No." This time Sirius did look up. He regarded Hermione pensively. "If I did that and won, it would set precedent and others – actual Death Eaters – might try to take advantage of some legal loophole. And I don't want that."

"Actually, Sirius, I've been wanting to ask about that as well," said Harry. "Do you remember exactly what you were asked and what answers you gave? What with Pettigrew now known to be alive, you'd think people might realise there's another interpretation of what you said."

When Sirius did not reply for a long moment, Hermione reached for some parchment and quill she had brought along. "Well, we know of at least two problematic questions. You were asked if you were responsible for Harry's parents' deaths, and you answered yes—"

Sorrow overtook Sirius' face at her words. He nodded. "I couldn't have said anything else. They had to rephrase the question first, though. They first asked if I'd caused their deaths. I answered 'no'. So one of the _especially clever_ aurors thought I meant I was hiding behind Voldemort's actions. Then they asked me if I was responsible." He looked down at the board again, and carelessly moved a piece.

"You sure you want to do that?" asked Ron.

Sirius frowned, turning his attention back to the board. "Oh, I see… Not a very wise move, was it? But as I made it, I better stand by it. Not that you need any more help in beating me. You know, I used to think I was rather good at chess…"

With a sniff, Hermione picked up her quill again. "Speaking of standing by unwise moves – another question you gave a bad answer to was to do with the twelve bystanders that Pettigrew killed."

"Yeah, that one I don't get," said Ron, looking away from the board for once. "Alright, so they asked you if they died as a consequence of your fight with Pettigrew, right? And you said yes. But even so, why didn't you just say that you weren't the one who killed them? That it was Pettigrew?"

"First of all, you aren't allowed to answer questions you haven't been asked. If you do – if you speak out of turn during a Veritaserum questioning – it can be considered an attempt to cheat. You could be attempting a misdirection – forcing the questions you want to be asked, that sort of thing—"

"But that's so you don't hide the truth!" exclaimed Harry. "Your questioning did the exact opposite!"

"I was getting to that," said Sirius. "They did ask me if I'd killed those people. I, of course, said no. They again thought I was hiding the truth behind a technicality. So they asked me if their deaths had been caused by my confrontation with Pettigrew—"

"But then, even they should've thought Pettigrew just as responsible!" said Hermione.

"But Pettigrew was the poor underdog killed hero, and I was the big, bad traitor." Sirius said this with a mocking smile.

"Now they know that he's neither dead, nor a hero. But still no one's corrected that account of the events," said Harry.

"Because none of them think there's any need for it." Sirius was beginning to get impatient with the unpleasant topic. "Come on, Ron. I think we both know now that you've won. Let's finish the game so we can move on to the reason for our meeting today." He glanced to the stack of books he had brought with him.

Ron nodded, outlining the last few moves that would lead him to checkmate. Sirius agreed and Ron's pieces joyfully dethroned Sirius' annoyed king.

Moving the books in the middle, Sirius picked up the one from the top. "This is the main one: _Numerology for the Animagus Transformation_. The others are mostly Latin books – a dictionary and a grammar—"

"Latin!" Ron looked a bit horrified.

"I'm afraid so," Sirius answered with a mock-grimace. "Hermione and Harry might've already been told a bit about that—"

"Latin words being more stable, you mean?" said Hermione. She had unsurprisingly been paying better attention in class than Harry. "It's because modern words can change meanings over time, but the meaning of Latin words is more stable," she explained, seeing her friends' sceptical looks.

Sirius nodded. "You can try translating your words directly to Latin and then calculating the numerological values, or you can try calculating the numerological values for English words first – and then translating the ones with the highest values. Either way, the calculation is the most important part – and what we came here for." He opened the numerology book to the appropriate page.

Harry sat up, willing himself to pay close attention. He would not have another chance to have Sirius explain things in person, to watch him write down the calculations as he was explaining so Harry could see what was going on. And he did want to understand. He wanted to learn this strange magic, to become an animagus like his father, like Sirius. He had been trying diligently, casting the animagus spell at every opportunity, just like Hermione. The constant effort had worked for her, after all.

"If you've had a look through your arithmancy textbook, you'll notice that this calculation is much simpler," said Sirius, pointing at a lengthy calculation, which did not look particularly simple to Harry. "That's because here you're only considering the words in the context of how they apply to you – rather than in every possible context, which you'd need to do for a general spell—"

"Sirius, wait." Hermione looked torn, glancing longingly at the book. But finally she shook herself. "Were we done talking about your questioning? I mean, was that it? Were there only those two questions that you answered badly?"

Harry frowned, for once more eager to move on to the lesson. But then he looked at his godfather's carefully averted eyes, the deliberately controlled way in which he was leafing through the book in front of him. A part of Harry was still in the mood for learning the animagus transformation, his thoughts drifting to the animagus spell and the excitement of finding the as of yet undiscovered first word of his transformation. He berated himself to get his priorities straight.

"There were a few other questions I was asked. My answers—" Sirius grimaced. "I suppose they could've been better." He looked at his curious young listeners then, at their earnest, concerned faces, and smiled wistfully. "I believe you three did a lot better during the Veritaserum questioning Snape subjected you to last year, than I did at my questioning. You figured out right away that _a_ truthful answer is quite enough. You don't have to tell the whole truth – or the truest thing. I… didn't. I knew that was possible in theory, but…" Sirius drew a breath. "I said some things about my family – among other things—" He paused, grimaced.

Harry looked away from his godfather's clearly uncomfortable expression, turning towards the books Sirius had brought. Somewhere in the pit of his stomach, he felt a strange, unpleasant flutter. Sirius did not want to talk about this, had been avoiding discussing this for weeks, Harry realised and thought Hermione could have left well enough alone. He tried to focus on the text he was reading, to distract himself from what was being said, having a fairly accurate guess of what he was about to hear.

"They asked you about your family?" said Hermione.

"They wanted to know about my reasons for my supposed treachery. But once again, instead of asking me whether I was a Death Eater – or at least Voldemort's supporter – they started asking about—" Sirius grimaced again. "My… loyalties to my family. I mean…"

Harry read the description of the animagus spell for the third time – something about focusing on the moment while saying Amato Animo, then focusing on the inner self when saying Animato Animagus – but it was not nearly enough of a distraction. He hated hearing the halting words, something akin to shame in Sirius' voice.

"I… Well, I did, apparently – feel some loyalty for them." Sirius almost stopped at that point, but then he shook his head. "And that wasn't all. I… There were a number of things I said – about purebloods, about the people suspected to be Death Eaters—"

Harry did not want to hear this. It was like a confession, but one that felt forced. He kept hoping one of his friends would interrupt, but they were also listening uncomfortably. He spoke the spell – _Amato_ _Animo_ _Animato Animagus_ – under his breath, to force the sound of the words to tune out his godfather's voice.

There was a rushing noise in his ears and for a moment he did not know what was happening. Sirius is going to say he had grown up with them, Harry thought—

"I grew up with them, they were all my relatives," his godfather said a moment later. He avoided looking at Hermione, as he went on. "I… I knew what they were capable of – what they'd been taught at home…"

Of course, a part of Harry wanted to say. Of course you'd have thought that. It was all coming into focus, all the little things Sirius had said over the summer, and even before. Sirius, who had been one of the best students in his year without ever trying, who used to be so very handsome and popular. Of course he used to have a high opinion of himself, and his relatives who were like him.

"I went against the rules at that point, told them I didn't condone violence against muggleborns or muggles, even though I hadn't been asked about that, but they brushed my words aside – apparently it was my warped mind trying to justify my heinous crimes—"

"One private opinion they made you admit to – maybe an objectionable one – doesn't prove you guilty of what you were accused of," said Harry. The words were his own, but he could not have found them on his own. His mind caught in the trance made his thoughts blur, then focus on one thing, gathering his words. "It was wrong – everything they asked was wrong. They weren't searching for your secrets, they weren't looking for truth – they didn't want to hear it – they just wanted to hear what they thought they knew—" Harry gasped, bent over, caught himself with his hand on the dusty mattress. He was reeling from the way his own words had resonated within him.

His friends turned to him, helped to brace him. Sirius was regarding him curiously, Harry noticed once he looked up.

"Did you just go through the trance?" he asked shrewdly.

Harry nodded. He dared not answer, because there was a lump in his throat, he noticed.

Hermione gasped, glancing from him to Sirius and back. Then she began a rapid fire of questions. It was a distraction, a step away from the uncomfortable topic they had been discussing, and they all silently agreed to move away from it.

Harry drew a deep breath, swallowed the lump down. "Yeah, I went through the trance," he said shakily. "I'm not sure about the word, but I think it's either secret or truth."

Sirius cleared his throat. "Well, only one way to find out for sure." He picked up the numerology book again, and this time, no one interrupted him.

He explained the calculation in the book, then did a live demonstration of an example calculation for one of the words from his own spell – 'loyal' – and once all three had asked every question they could think of, and thought they had understood everything well enough, Harry and Hermione got to do the calculations for the words they had found.

Hermione's words really did seem to be 'persevering' and 'purpose', from their high numerological values, but Sirius still suggested she should try some related words. The boys jokingly suggested 'stubborn', which had a surprisingly high value, though lower than 'persevering'. Hermione went through some more words as well, and finally tried Sirius' equally joking suggestion of 'dogged' – mostly because he was still a little hesitant around her, following his confessions, and she wanted to get back to normal. To everyone's surprise, 'dogged' had the highest numerological value of all the words she had tried. Sirius raised his eyebrows at that, but did not comment.

Harry tried 'truth' first, and was happy to see the high numerological value. Sirius nodded, and then made him try 'secret' as well. The numerological value of 'secret' was not nearly as high, compared to either Sirius' or Hermione's words – or even Harry's own.

"Those two words are not really related – they're not synonyms. I wonder why you thought of them both," Sirius mused. "It could be that it _is_ one of your words after all – but not related to your experience today…"

~HP~

The days following Hermione's birthday, Harry had firm resolutions to make quick progress with the animagus spell, to talk to Lupin and maybe sow doubt in his conviction that Sirius was a traitor, to find ways to reassure Dudley—

The days flew by before he knew it, spent suffering through Trelawney's predictions of doom, feeding flobberworms – surely the most boring of all creatures – in care of magical creatures, writing ever more challenging essays for the core subjects… Snape and McGonagall both had higher expectations of him and his friends after seeing them in action in the Chamber of Secrets, and tended to leave unpleasant comments if any of them slacked off writing their homework essays.

Lupin had not made it easy to find a way to have a chat with him, friendly as he continued to be in class. Even the full moon at the end of September had fallen at the end of the week, so he had not missed any of Harry's classes, preventing that topic of his health as a potential conversation-starter. At least, his lessons were challenging in an enjoyable way. Following the red caps, they had begun learning about kappas, creepy water-dwellers that looked like scaly monkeys, with webbed hands itching to strangle unwitting waders in their ponds.

Reassuring Dudley was also not so straight-forward. The code they had agreed on worked quite well to communicate facts, events. He could not communicate reassurance in code. But neither could he do so in the main text of the letter, without mentioning what it related to, of course.

As for the animagus spell, none of them had made much progress by the time October arrived.

Harry, however, soon had something else to occupy him, as the quidditch season was approaching, and Oliver Wood was beginning to be very serious about training. He called a meeting on Thursday evening to discuss tactics for the new season.

"This is our last chance – my last chance – to win the Quidditch Cup," he told the rest of the team, striding up and down in front of them. "I'll be leaving at the end of this year. I'll never get another shot at it."

They had won the Cup in Harry's first year, but Oliver was still hung up on the fact that the tournament was called off the year before, due to the basilisk stalking the inhabitants of Hogwarts. Talking about it, Wood swallowed, as though the memory still brought a lump to his throat. His zeal was infectious, his conviction that theirs was the best team – especially because they had Harry – giving them all courage.

Full of determination, the team started training sessions, three evenings a week – including on Thursday evenings, even though Harry still had astronomy afterwards, at midnight. They were not discouraged by the worsening weather, nor by the shortening days.

As predicted, this meant less time for other activities, and both the duelling practice and work on the animagus spell had to be relegated to a few hours stolen over the weekends.

Harry returned to the Gryffindor common room one Thursday evening after training, cold and stiff but pleased with the way practice had gone, to find the room buzzing excitedly. Ron and Hermione, sitting in two of the best chairs by the fireplace and completing some star charts for astronomy, told him the news. The date for the first Hogsmeade weekend had been announced. It was going to take place on Hallowe'en.

Fred and George were discussing all the things they wanted to get from Zonko's, while people from Harry's year were talking about everything they wanted to discover during their first ever Hogsmeade trip. Harry felt his mood dim right away. Hermione, noticing this, reminded him – warned him, really – that he was supposed to stay at the castle. Ron was more understanding, suggesting Harry should ask McGonagall, explain the situation with his family and his hasty trip to Diagon Alley that summer.

"Ron!" said Hermione. "Pettigrew was sighted not too far from Hogsmeade just a few weeks ago!"

"And he has it in for us just as much as Harry!" Ron hissed back quietly enough not to be overheard. "But neither of us'll be staying at Hogwarts, will we?"

Hermione looked like she wanted to argue more, but at that moment Crookshanks leapt lightly onto her lap, a large, dead spider dangling from his mouth.

"Does he have to eat that in front of us?" said Ron, scowling.

"Clever Crookshanks, did you catch that all by yourself?" said Hermione.

Harry yawned. He would have enjoyed a few hours' sleep before astronomy, but he still had his own chart to complete, and Sirius would be expecting a mirror call – and he never forgot to ask about Harry's astronomy charts. With a sigh, he accepted Ron's offer to – partly – copy his homework, and got to work. Hermione, who disapproved of copying, pursed her lips, but did not say anything.

An hour later, Harry found himself in an empty classroom not too far from the common room, talking over his mirror to Sirius. His godfather had wanted him to do a couple of small corrections to his chart, and had realised while explaining the mistake to Harry who was not following along, that Harry had copied the chart. He looked at least as disapproving as Hermione, and did comment, then made him understand the mistakes enough that he would be able to pass Sirius' correction on to Ron.

Finally – partly to distract Sirius away from the unpleasant topic of astronomy – Harry brought up the Hogsmeade weekend. "I'll ask McGonagall if she'll let me go. She might say no, though. I was thinking, I could sneak out again. What do you think? I might even meet you at the Shrieking Shack again. I mean, I'll want to see the village a bit, but then we could meet—"

Sirius shook his head. "I can't. And I wish you'd reconsider sneaking out this once, but if you insist, make sure to use the passage behind the statue of the one-eyed witch, find Ron and Hermione as soon as you get there, and don't go anywhere where there aren't a lot of other people." He said this very firmly.

Harry was about to agree – the terms sounded reasonable enough – but then he asked instead why Sirius would be unavailable.

"I… I'll be visiting Godric's Hollow." Sirius sighed, looked away, when he noticed Harry's uncomprehending look. "I'll be visiting your parents' graves," he said very quietly.

"I want to come along," Harry said at once.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed the dates surrounding the full moon, to match with the actual calendar of 1993.

Hermione heard of Harry's plans to sneak out at Hallowe'en during herbology the next morning, together with Ron, while they were working on the same puffapod. She scowled in response, but refrained from telling him not to, after his casual mention that he had never visited his parents' graves. She thought for a moment, as they stripped the fat pink pods from the plants and emptied the shining beans into a wooden pail.

"Maybe you should ask Professor McGonagall to let you come along to Hogsmeade after all," she finally said, earning her friends' surprised looks. She huffed. "At least, that way, you wouldn't be sneaking out of the school. You'd at least have permission to leave the castle."

Ron insisted that was nothing but a technicality, but Harry agreed to do so, saying it might make sneaking away easier. Hermione refrained from arguing with them further.

They had transfiguration next, and while waiting outside of the classroom to be let in, Hermione was wondering how Harry would be arguing his case after class, trying to come up with some helpful arguments herself. There was a disturbance at the front of the line, which distracted her. Lavender seemed to be crying, surrounded by Parvati, Seamus and Dean, all of them looking very serious.

Hermione, who shared her dorm with Lavender, asked anxiously what the matter was, and was sorry to hear that the other girl's pet rabbit, Binky, had been killed by a fox. She hesitated when Lavender, with a tragic voice, brought up Trelawney's prediction that what she dreaded most would happen on Friday the 15th of October. She was well aware that her opinion of Trelawney was not a popular one. Besides, Lavender had just received tragic news. And yet—

Hermione had been wrong in her opinions before. She knew this. There was Lockhart, as Ron liked to remind her. But could she really have been that wrong about Trelawney? That prediction seemed surprisingly accurate – it came with an exact date. And yet—

"You – you were dreading Binky being killed by a fox?" Hermione said, unable to hold back the words, despite the serious faces of her classmates – friends – surrounding Lavender.

"Well, not necessarily by a _fox_ ," said Lavender, looking up at Hermione with streaming eyes, "but I was _obviously_ dreading him dying, wasn't I?"

Hermione felt vindicated, as well as angry all of a sudden. With a strong suspicion of what the answer would be, she asked if Binky had been old – he had only been a baby, came the teary reply. Then why would Lavender have dreaded his death? Parvati glared at her for pointing this out.

"Well, look at it logically," said Hermione, turning to the rest of the group. "I mean, Binky didn't even die today, did he? Lavender just got the news today—" Lavender wailed loudly. "—and she can't have been dreading it, because it's come as a real shock—"

"Don't mind Hermione, Lavender," said Ron loudly, "she just doesn't like being wrong about anything."

Hermione was suddenly incensed. Worse, she felt let down by her friend, even though she knew that Ron did not share her opinion of Trelawney. She was not sure if it was a good thing that Professor McGonagall opened the door at that moment to let them in.

"She just lost her pet, Hermione," Ron whispered on the way in, berating her.

Hermione wanted to shout at him that she had not been insensitive just so she could show herself to be right. It had been about Trelawney scaring them with her predictions, in order to impress them, to make herself look important – and it made her so angry that so many people were falling for it—

The sudden clarity the trance brought was so overwhelming, she almost stumbled into her seat and Ron had to grab her elbow to steady her. The anger was gone, like everything else, except for the one thing, deeper than all that, that the spell had focused on. "It's about honesty, Ron," she said, "and Trelawney's lack of it. I do feel sorry for Lavender, but she's letting herself be deceived. They all are. I wanted to find the honest truth."

Ron and Harry were both giving her odd looks – and shielding her from the glares of their classmates. Then their eyes widened, and they sent her questioning looks, not daring to ask about the animagus spell in Professor McGonagall's classroom. She nodded jerkily, before forcing herself to come back to herself and pay attention to the lesson. Inside, her mind was still buzzing, her hand itching to start calculating – barely deterred by the presence of the one professor she knew to be an animagus. She was pretty sure her newly found word was 'honesty'.

~HP~

Despite his best attempts, McGonagall did not accept Harry's excuse that his aunt and uncle had merely missed the opportunity to sign his permission form because he had to stay at Diagon Alley. She refused his request to allow him to visit Hogsmeade.

This was in no way a deterrent. Despite the sombre reason for the trip, the planning involved was nothing short of exciting, brightening the monotony of lessons, homework and quidditch practice. Sirius had soon been won over, and was once again eager to help.

Hermione, once having agreed that Harry should go, had thrown herself into the preparation. Her planning reached new levels of seriousness after Sirius mentioned that Pettigrew might know – or guess – that he would be going to Godric's Hollow on Hallowe'en, having successfully guessed the same the year before. Hermione shrilly asked question after question, not hiding her disapproval.

Harry thought she sounded more critical of Sirius than she usually did, but Sirius did not seem to mind, responding with his usual bark-like laugh.

"Oh, Harry, you'll need to be so well-prepared," she said, looking away from the two-sided mirror showing Sirius' amused face. "And that'll require planning. Knowing that there is going to be danger, and heading towards it is – is—" She huffed out an annoyed breath.

"Pettigrew can't do anything, Hermione," said Sirius reasonably. "Not in broad daylight, not with all the muggles who'll be there. It's a functioning church, and on a Sunday morning there'll be a few muggles around – enough that he won't risk doing anything. Speaking of, we'll need to blend in, pretend to be muggles, Harry. You'll need to dress, er—"

"Like I usually dress when not in class?" Harry deadpanned.

Sirius grimaced. "I guess that's mostly something I need to keep in mind. Well, that's that, then—"

"Is that it!" Hermione interrupted. "Is that all the preparing you're going to do? Harry'll just meet you in the Shrieking Shack – dressed in muggle clothes – and you'll just – go—"

"With the surprise transport I organised for us," Sirius added calmly.

He had so far refused to tell them what that was supposed to be, which was another thing that greatly annoyed Hermione.

"All your plans are like that. No wonder Lockhart almost led you into a trap and made you reveal yourself," she groused somewhat uncharitably. "You went after him without preparation, without considering all the consequences—"

"What are you talking about, Hermione?" Sirius' lips were twitching suspiciously, barely keeping from breaking out into a grin. "I went to the sacrifice of reading all of Lockhart's books in preparation—" Before Hermione could do more than scoff in response, he held up his hands. "I have taken precautions and I really do think Harry and I will be quite safe during the entire trip there and back."

Hermione decided to believe him – somewhat. This did not mean that she stopped her own preparations, however. Every chance she got, she would tell Harry and Ron about every spell she had read about in Bill's notes – or elsewhere – that Pettigrew might use against Harry and Sirius.

"There's all sorts of spells to check for things. Spells to detect concealments, spells to detect any use of recent magic, spells to trace people by magic they've used—"

"That one was Appare something-or-other, wasn't it?" said Harry, sounding pleased to have remembered it, rather than worried.

"Appare Vestigium," came Hermione's exasperated reply. "That one will show up any magic recently used in an area – a fairly large area, if the caster is powerful. There's also Incantatio Revelio – _another_ spell that shows recently used magic – this time for a specific person. And it tracks that magic user for quite a long distance."

"Alright… Well, is there a counter for it?" said Ron.

"Not one Harry could learn."

"Well, Sirius might know it." said Harry.

Hermione sniffed. "He probably does. But is he thinking of all the things that could go wrong? What if Pettigrew's put an intruder charm around the graves? It'd go off, alert the muggles, which would set off the Trace—"

"Well, I can remind Sirius to check for that—"

"Did I tell you about this little tracking spell, Avenseguim? It can turn any object into a tracking device that'll follow you wherever you go. It's like the homing spell, but the object is not itself dark magic, and protective spells don't work on it so well—"

"And it could follow me from the churchyard all the way back to Hogwarts. If I fail to spot it. Yes, you've mentioned," said Harry.

"Or follow Sirius, until he's not around other people any more, and has become an easy target—"

"For Pettigrew?" said Ron. "Not a chance. Hermione, I keep telling you, you read too much. And the more you read, the more you worry. So do like me – don't read."

Hermione came back with a scathing reply, and the ensuing bickering managed to distract her away from her worries.

Slowly, over the following days she resigned herself to the fact that Harry would be breaking the rules again. A few days later, during charms on Tuesday, while they were supposed to be quietly working on the disillusionment charm – not that either of them needed to, having learned it in first year – she gasped, then grabbed Harry's arm to draw his attention.

"Flowers," she said to him out of the blue.

"What?"

"You should bring flowers," she whispered urgently. Impatient with his lack of understanding, she dramatically rolled her eyes. "On Hallowe'en!" she hissed as loudly as she dared.

Harry looked stricken. "Oh, I didn't think of that."

"Well, I keep telling you, planning is—"

She stopped when Ron, sitting on Harry's other side, loudly cleared his throat to alert them that Flitwick was nearby.

After class, as they walked to the great hall to have lunch, they tried to figure out what to do. There was not much time left – Hallowe'en was at the end of that week. Hermione finally promised she would think of a way.

If all else failed, Harry supposed he could just ask Sirius. He knew though that he did not want to do that. He had not even guessed what Sirius would be doing on Hallowe'en, had not been thinking of that horrible, ruinous event twelve years ago, until his godfather had told him of his plans. Harry could at least manage to bring the flowers on his own, he thought – even if Hermione had had to tell him to do so.

They did not discuss the topic further in their next class – or rather classes. Hermione did not allow any distractions during arithmancy, and as for divination, it was still more unpleasant than usual for Hermione. Even a week and a half after her little outburst following Lavender's rabbit's death, Lavender and Parvati still got a bit weird around her during divination class.

Afterwards, they had defence, and even though they usually did their best to pay attention to Lupin's teaching, this issue was distracting Harry enough that he brought it up again. Hermione quietly suggested having them delivered by owl post – but then shot down the idea herself. Owl post deliveries took too long, and they were out of time. Ron suggested asking his mother for some flowers from their garden, but he was clearly reluctant. It would not be easy to justify such a request.

Then Harry thought of something else. "What about Pettigrew? What if he sees them there?"

His friends did not understand immediately, looking at him with confusion.

"What if he goes to Godric's Hollow tomorrow—" He stopped when he noticed Lupin was uncomfortably close and looking their way, but he had said enough. His friends had understood.

Lupin must have heard something – enough that he gave them strange looks for the rest of the class.

"Never mind Pettigrew," Ron said as soon as the class was over. "So what if he finds the flowers there? Even if he can figure out that you left them – so what?"

Even Hermione agreed that it was important enough to be worth the risk, and Harry agreed.

Hermione had muggle studies and ancient runes right after lunch the following day, before she and Ron rejoined Harry for history of magic afterwards. Hermione, for once, was not arguing against talking in Binns' class. It was she, who quietly told Harry she had talked to Neville just before ancient runes.

"I was trying to distract him. He looks forward to that class almost as much as potions." She grimaced in sympathy. "Anyway, I asked him if there were any nice flowers on the Hogwarts grounds – the sort students are allowed to pick, obviously. He was surprised, of course, because I wouldn't explain what it was about, but…"

"But he's known us a while now," supplied Ron from Harry's other side.

"Yes. Well." Hermione rolled her eyes, but could not suppress a tiny, snorting laugh. "He said it's the wrong time of the year. If we want flowers now, it'll have to be ones from one of the greenhouses."

"We have herbology after this," Harry said at once, eagerly.

Hermione gave a long-suffering sigh. "You realise we're talking about stealing, don't you?"

"Nah, come on, Hermione," said Ron. "No one'll miss a few flowers. Most of them'll be cut down by the end of the week anyway, for the Hallowe'en feast."

All throughout herbology, Neville kept following their glances suspiciously, clearly trying to determine what they were looking at – and drawing others' attention to them. That would not do. Ron thought fast, and turned to him, to distract him, asking questions about the puffapods they were working on. This did not quite go according to plan, and a few moments later, the arrangement of the students had shifted subtly so that Neville was standing next to Harry and Hermione.

"I might come to regret this," he began with a quiet sigh. "But if you told me what sorts of flowers you need – I won't even ask for what – then maybe I could help you."

Harry debated his answer. It would mean admitting they were up to something. It would mean involving Neville in yet more rule-breaking. But he had been their friend for some time now. Harry trusted him, and also trusted that he would be able to live with the consequences if they were caught. With a nod at Hermione, he gave permission for her to answer.

"Uh, I'm not even sure how to describe it," said Hermione, keeping her tone whisper-quiet. "Something that'll fit in a flower arrangement – preferably non-magical – and in sombre colours, maybe?"

Neville frowned. "Are you going to a funeral?"

Harry grimaced. "Not exactly."

"One of your pets didn't die, did they?"

"No!" came the shocked denials from both Harry and Hermione, drawing a bit too much attention.

"Well, there's some common white flowers in this greenhouse. Lilies and daffodils, and… Actually, would you even recognise which ones I'm talking about? Uh, are you planning to steal them?" He said the last part especially quietly.

Harry imperceptibly nodded his head. "Er, if you, er, describe them to me? I guess any white flowers will do—"

"N-no, some of them might be magical," said Neville. "If you want mundane flowers, you should only pick ones I tell you to."

"Right—" Harry grimaced.

"Oh, never mind." Exasperated, Hermione looked away from his pathetic expression, facing Neville. "I'll do it. So, which ones should I avoid?"

Relieved, Harry tried to thank her, but she brushed it off, saying he should save it for after she had successfully returned with the loot.

It was easy enough for Hermione to slip away from the work benches unobserved – she was not one of those students teachers usually needed to pay attention to in that regard. It helped also that she had become quite adept at disillusionment charms. Harry, Ron and Neville kept busy, tried their best to act normally, and waited in suspense for her to get back.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief when she turned up next to him again quite a few long minutes later. He frowned though, when he saw that she was as empty-handed as she had been when she had left.

"I put them in my bag," she explained, rolling her eyes. She subtly pointed towards the entrance to the greenhouse, where they had all stowed their bags. "I had to unpack some of my books, though. But you can carry those."

"Er, yeah, sure—"

"That wasn't a question. I stuffed as many as I could fit in your bag. Yours, too, Ron. The rest you can carry by hand."

Once the class was over, Harry and Ron could barely wait to leave the greenhouse until the sniggers had overtaken them. Even Neville joined in the hilarity. Hermione rolled her eyes, and went along with it – as long as Neville was around.

"I had to use the time-turner, did you realise?" she hissed at the boys, her face set into a deep scowl. "I was barely gone a few minutes. Who knows, maybe Neville could tell I wasn't telling the truth—"

"Nah. I didn't. So why would he?" said Ron.

"Because he has a better idea what I actually had to do! And I tried, without the time-turner. But there were locking charms everywhere! It'd have taken forever to undo them – not to mention putting them back without Professor Sprout noticing the difference—"

"So how did you do it?" said Ron eagerly.

This only darkened Hermione's scowl, but after a beat she answered. "I waited until the class was over and everyone had left. The locking charms inside lifted once the entire greenhouse was locked from the outside. Then I could grab some flowers, go back by an hour and – Well, you know the rest."

"Good thinking, Hermione," said Harry.

"Yeah, Hermione. Excellent. Very creative use of the time-turner," added Ron.

The boys ducked under her flashing eyes, letting the giggles overtake them once again.

~HP~

Saturday morning, Harry felt too keyed up to stay in the common room. Everyone else was discussing their plans for the Hogsmeade trip the following morning, while his own mind kept drifting to his trip to Godric's Hollow. The sneaking out of school and past the dementors part of it worried him somewhat, and he thought he probably would be having an emotional reaction to Godric's Hollow once he got there, but that afternoon, all he could think was that he would not be going to Hogsmeade after all. He would likely be the only third year after Hallowe'en who had never – properly – been there. (There had been that trip to London the year before, which had begun by going to Hogsmeade and taking the Knight Bus from there. But still.)

His aimless wandering had brought him to the defence against the dark arts office, he realised with a start, when he spotted Lupin inside the open door, trying to direct a very large tank of water to one corner of the office. This was made more difficult by the presence of a sickly green creature with sharp little horns, visible among a tangle of weeds, which had its face pressed against the glass, pulling faces and flexing its long, spindly fingers.

Lupin gave a start when he finally noticed Harry. He righted the water tank, which had tilted precariously at his slip of focus. "Harry? What are you doing here?" He sounded somewhat flustered.

Harry might have been surprised by this under other circumstances, but he knew that Lupin would be transforming into a wolf in a short few hours – the full moon was that night, and the sun set quite early at the end of October, after all.

"I was just, er, walking past – and saw that creature in your office."

"Ah, the grindylow for our next lesson. It was delivered this morning." While he invited Harry into his office, he went on to explain that the way to deal with them was to break their grip, as their abnormally long fingers were strong but very brittle.

"Are you looking forward to the Hogsmeade trip—" Lupin stopped talking midway through the sentence. "I mean—" he backtracked with a little grimace.

He knew Harry was supposed to be in danger, of course, and was made to stay inside Hogwarts grounds.

"No, I won't be going to Hogsmeade tomorrow," Harry said. "Everyone keeps saying it's because my aunt and uncle didn't get around to signing my permission form. But of course it's because Pettigrew was sighted not too far from there a few weeks ago."

"Ah, I see. An opportunity to be idle, then. Have you and Ron and Hermione thought of other fun ways to fill the day?"

Once again, Lupin had avoided the topic of his former friends.

"Hermione and Ron are going to Hogsmeade," said Harry. No, now was probably not the time to speak. His own mind was preoccupied, while Lupin was hardly in the best condition, only hours away from his monthly agony. There would be other opportunities— "They were the ones, really, who thwarted Pettigrew's plans, but apparently it's not too dangerous for them to go there." The words had streamed out of him without having consciously decided to speak. He certainly had not meant to sound so whiny.

"Are you worried for their safety?" said Lupin, his face radiating genuine concern.

"No." Harry hesitated, wanting suddenly to get away from the topic, already feeling a bit foolish for his attempt to make Lupin talk. "I just—" He stopped himself from saying he had wanted to go along as well. No more whining.

"I'm sorry he's – they're – complicating your life," said Lupin. "But I believe you're aware that they – mean you harm—"

"How do you know?" Harry cut across. "Why are you all so sure that Pettigrew's after me? That you can guess what he – or Black – might be after in the first place? You didn't exactly guess that he was a traitor, did you?"

For once, Lupin's face was easy to read. The stricken expression morphed into a bone-deep sadness over several long seconds before he could speak. "No. I never even suspected a thing. For so long, I had thought him a hero," he said in an hushed tone.

"What about Black?" Harry tentatively tried his luck. "Did you suspect him?"

"I—" Lupin hesitated. "I didn't want to. I wouldn't let myself. We knew there was a traitor among us, and we began to suspect everyone. I kept thinking that Black, as your dad's closest friend, was above suspicion, but there had been… red flags. "

"Like what?" Harry tried to keep his voice steady, but it did not come out sounding quite casual.

Lupin did not seem to have noticed. He had a far-away look. "He used to say some things that—" He hesitated. "He always used to have strong opinions, and he was never a stranger to conflict. Back when we were children, I used to admire his rebelliousness. Later, during the war, it caused many arguments…" He grimaced. "Peter, on the other hand… He became such a comfort to talk to." He fell silent, lost in his own memories.

Harry decided to take another little chance. "Willing to listen to all your worries and suspicions?" His voice was too flat, he noticed as soon as Lupin's face pulled into a tiny frown. He had not quite managed to keep his sarcasm in check.

Before Harry could think of a way to dispel the moment, there was a knock on the door. Lupin's face cleared at once, returning to the present. He answered, and in came Snape, carrying a goblet, which was smoking faintly. He stopped at the sight of Harry, his black eyes narrowing.

"Ah, Severus," said Lupin, smiling. "Thanks very much. Could you leave it here on the desk for me?"

Snape set down the smoking goblet, his eyes wandering between Harry and Lupin. Harry tried his best to appear unaware of the tension between the teachers. He wondered what Snape thought of Harry befriending Lupin, and whether or not Harry knew of Lupin's connection to his parents, as well as Snape himself. He could hardly ask, though. It was not like Harry could drop by Snape's office unannounced and start chatting with him.

"I was just showing Harry my grindylow," said Lupin pleasantly, pointing at the tank.

"Fascinating," said Snape, without looking at it. "You should drink that directly, Lupin."

"Yes. Yes, I will," said Lupin. "Thanks very much, Severus."

"Not at all," said Snape, but there was an unpleasant look in his eye. He backed out of the room, unsmiling and watchful.

Harry looked at the goblet curiously. It finally dawned on him that it must be Wolfsbane.

Lupin smiled, explained that Snape had agreed to brew the potion for him because he himself was not much of a potion brewer and the one he needed was particularly complex. He picked up the goblet, sniffing it. "Pity sugar makes it useless," he added, taking a sip and shuddering.

Harry wondered that Lupin trusted Snape with something as important as Wolfsbane, but he supposed there had been little other choice.

"I've been feeling a bit off-colour," Lupin explained, even though Harry had not asked anything. "This potion is the only thing that helps. I am very lucky to be working alongside Professor Snape; there aren't many wizards who are up to making it."

"And he agreed to help you?" Harry could not suppress the disbelief in his voice.

Lupin paused drinking, and regarded him curiously. "It is somewhat obvious that we're not exactly friends, isn't it?" he finally said. "But he mustn't have told you anything too horrible about me. You're still talking to me." He smiled.

Harry tried to suppress the alarmed look that threatened to overtake his face. "Er, I'm not – I don't—" He drew a breath, let his gaze wander lazily around the room, to avoid Lupin's gaze, until he had focused his thoughts.

Lupin blinked. An odd look passed over his face, but it was gone in an instant.

"I wouldn't trust anything Snape said about you, anyway. He wasn't exactly fond of my Dad – or any of his friends," Harry then said.

The barest hint of a smirk pulled at Harry's lip, but he kept it firmly in check. He had been right. By the surprised expression on Lupin's face, he had been unaware just how much Harry knew about him. Lupin himself had never brought up his friendship with Harry's parents, and he clearly had not guessed that Harry had known much about it, despite having mentioned Mrs Figg. Harry was not sure why Lupin had not told him himself in the two months he had now known him. As he watched his teacher drown the last of the clearly disgusting-tasting Wolfsbane and pull a face, he said his goodbyes, his mind set on the topic of secrets.

~HP~

Remus had to pull himself together after Harry's visit. His late friends' son had brought up all sorts of painful, wonderful memories – without meaning to, of course. He was surprisingly difficult to be around. Just looking at him at times was disorienting – the similarity to James, Lily's eyes, even some of his mannerisms. Then there had been his acknowledgement of Remus' friendship with his parents, when Remus himself had dragged his feet, had delayed bringing it up. What Harry must think of him—

He had a meeting to get to, and it would not do to be late, after he had been forced to reschedule it. The request to meet by the auror trainee had been entirely unexpected and he had agreed before giving the details much thought. Only after looking at the dates did he realise that she had scheduled their meeting for the morning after the full moon. It was on a Hogsmeade weekend, which meant it should have suited them both, especially as most teachers went along to Hogsmeade. Thankfully, the young trainee had agreed to meet the day before without asking too many questions.

Remus hurried along the familiar path to Hogsmeade, doing his best to ignore the twinges in his joints he was already beginning to feel – even though the full moon was still hours away. He saw some dementors floating in the vicinity of the path, but thankfully they kept their distance. Rosmerta greeted him with a friendly smile and pointed to a table towards the back of the pub. Tonks was already there.

"Wotcher," she greeted him as he sat down. She was informally dressed. Her Weird Sisters t-shirt and dragon hide jacket were clearly magical, yet left the impression of being from the muggle world. "Professor Lupin, now, isn't it?"

Remus glanced self-consciously down at himself, then quickly up again. He nodded. She complained a bit about the worsening weather until Rosmerta had brought Remus' butterbeer and had left again. Then Tonks inconspicuously waved her wand in a manner that Remus recognised as protection against being overheard.

"Thank you for meeting me," she said. "I wouldn't have bothered you, but Mad Eye thought our suspicion was worth looking into, so—"

"Of course I'm happy to help," said Remus at once. Internally, he felt his heart sink. He had suspected it of course, but now he was quite sure he knew what he was about to hear—

"It's a bit of a delicate matter, what I'm about to tell you. But we – Mad Eye and I – suspect one of your _former_ friends might be involved," she said quietly.

Remus nodded resignedly. It was just as he had expected. If only Harry had not dropped by his office that morning. Their topic of conversation had left Remus in a strange mood.

"This isn't public knowledge yet, so please treat the matter confidentially," began Tonks. "There was a break-in at St. Mungo's on Thursday night – or very early Friday morning. I can't say much about the investigation – officially I'm not even working on it. But… Mad Eye immediately suspected Pettigrew or Black, but there's not enough evidence to say."

Remus frowned. "And how can I help?" he asked.

Tonks' hair lost a lot of its pink hue and faded to a dull, greyish purple. "The break-in was exact work. Very sophisticated warding. No trace to follow up, and no real clues." She grimaced. "Officially, the investigation is ongoing, but… The experts are sure of one thing, though – that there was only one person. Of course it's still possible that they're both involved. But if what Dumbledore said this summer is true, and they had a disagreement – Well, we're trying to figure out which of them it might've been."

"Just like that sighting of Pettigrew a few weeks ago," said Remus. Aware of the young auror's expectant gaze, he began to consider the question. His initial thought had been Black, who had had an undeniable talent for breaking in and out of well-warded places. He almost said so, but once again his thoughts returned to his conversation with Harry only an hour ago. Black, who had spoken unwise things in defence of his relatives, who had criticised the aurors, who had argued with Dumbledore – and Pettigrew, who had listened, commiserated, shared suspicions, _agreed_ …

"Pettigrew always could keep a secret," he heard himself say. "Black's actions were always much more predictable. And I'm aware that clearly – _clearly_ – I wasn't able to predict what either of them would do, but…"

Tonks grimaced. "Well, I'm just asking after your feeling – intuition, I suppose."

Remus nodded, took another gulp of his butterbeer. "You said the break-in was exact work," he said, following a hunch. Exact enough that the aurors did not know who had done it. Black would not have spent so much effort into hiding his identity, Remus was – almost – sure. "How exact are we talking about? A very capable amateur, or a professional?"

Tonks regarded him for an extended moment, clearly weighing how much information to entrust him with.

"Or… was it exact enough to make you suspect inside knowledge?" he said, following his intuition as she had asked. He noted her surprise with grim satisfaction. "Because if so, then I'd suspect Pettigrew. He was clearly involved with – serious people – last summer." He carefully did not name Lucius Malfoy. Dumbledore had named him, but officially, he had not been connected to the basilisk attacks.

Tonks nodded slowly. "Serious – and recently connected to the hospital, perhaps."

Remus nodded as well, even smiled at the returning brightness of his companion's hair as she thanked him. He felt gratified that he had been able to help. It was a bizarrely normal – _human_ – situation. He was helping an officer of the law, his understanding of the situation was requested, appreciated.

"Well, I better be going," Tonks said, finishing her drink – a colourful, fizzy liquid that Remus doubted contained any alcohol. "Gotta do some work on my _official_ case." She grimaced.

"I suppose that's not something I can help with?" offered Remus.

"You know, actually…" Tonks leaned back, regarding him, weighing him up. "You used to apprentice in the study of dark creatures, didn't you?"

Remus drew back, surprised. "Yes, a long time ago, but I didn't finish."

"I'm sorry, I guess that's something you weren't aware of, but – uh – well, I questioned you officially, so I was given partial access to your ministry file."

"Right," Remus said faintly. How much had she read? he wondered. She could not possibly know that he was a werewolf. She would not be sitting here, chatting amiably with him if she knew—

"Well, you were an apprentice for six years, before you left – without ever presenting your journeyman's work to the guild—" She was frowning, the situation clearly not adding up for her.

"I reconsidered my life choices," said Remus. He did not want to explain.

His master had been a friend and colleague of his father's and had consented to take him on as an apprentice, despite knowing of his lycantrophy. But that had been before the war, when the werewolf rights had been steadily improving. After the werewolves had sided with Voldemort, and their side had lost, the situation had changed. Remus had also been left without his friends. His master had not outright told him to leave – out of respect for his father, but had refused to submit his journeyman's work to the guild and his assignments had become ever more dangerous, in hopes that Remus would leave himself. Remus had been feeling off-kilter and reckless enough in the beginning that he had tried to last the seven years – at which point his master would have been forced to submit his work – but after one too many near-death experiences, he had finally reconsidered.

"Right. Well," Tonks went on awkwardly. "I think that still makes you enough of an expert. I'm investigating your predecessor – I still haven't tracked down all the victims. At the moment, I'm trying to find the – oh, I guess you could call him the antagonist of _Wanderings with Werewolves_ – a lycanthrope _charmingly_ referred to as the Wagga Wagga Werewolf—"

Remus felt his face contort before he could stop himself. He felt cold wash over him, once again beset by the fear that she knew of his condition. Just once, he had thought he had been able to pretend to be normal—

"Well, victim mightn't be the right term there, I suppose," Tonks said soberly, carefully – clearly having noticed his reaction, though unsure as to the reason. "That's what I was wondering about, actually. I don't know as much about dark creatures as I perhaps should—" She frowned at the face he had pulled. "You're not very fond of werewolves, then?" she guessed.

Remus nearly laughed. She had no idea, then. She was genuinely asking his expert opinion – because he was a teacher at Hogwarts, because he used to be an apprentice. "Oh, no. On the contrary. I'm afraid I'm one of those werewolf rights people," he said lightly.

That was not the straightforward truth it used to be, he silently chided himself. Not since the war. Harry had asked him why he had begun distrusting Sirius, and the first thing Remus had thought of had been their argument about werewolf rights. Sirius – like James and Peter – used to support werewolf rights all throughout their teenage years. But after school, when Remus had actually begun campaigning, he had been discouraging, cautioning that it was the wrong time, that the situation with Voldemort was too important to get distracted from. And he had been right. Most werewolves, disappointed by the slow improvement of their rights, had fallen for Voldemort's promises and joined his side. Remus had not done that, but his arguments with Si– with _Black_ had driven a wedge between him and the rest of the Marauders. James had clearly not trusted him enough in the end.

"Oh, really?" Tonks seemed intrigued by his pronouncement, rather than put off. "I've never even met a werewolf, to be honest. Have you?"

Remus nodded, not trusting himself to reply verbally.

"I suppose you've met all sorts during your travels." She sounded nothing short of envious.

Remus raised his eyebrows. "My travels?"

"For your employment. Didn't you used to procure dark creatures and potions ingredients from all over the world?"

"I, uh, suppose so," said Remus.

That ministry file about him clearly contained some very strange information, thought Remus. He used to do casual work, similar to what she described. To be more exact, he used to supply some of the more questionable shops in Knockturn Alley with difficult to procure magical beings and plants. Nothing that grossly violated his code of ethics, but certainly not something that warranted the sort of envy he could hear in her voice. It had simply been the sort of employment where his employers could not deduce that he was a lycanthrope – because he was not around for long enough. That had changed with the policy Umbridge had introduced, which obligated him to state that he was a werewolf for any sort of employment.

"You know, that's not all that different from what Lockhart claimed he used to do," said Tonks. "Except, he didn't actually do any of it, but still tried to make himself out to be such an expert – and even a hero." Now she sounded almost admiring – of him, Remus.

Remus felt like cringing. He wondered what she was imagining his life had been like. He doubted any of her imaginings included wading in ten inches of mud, constantly soaked feet, lack of cooked food and regular showers…

"Right. Lockhart." Remus went back to the topic she was asking about.

"I was wondering about a spell he wrote about, actually – Homorphus. It must be a real spell, I guess, considering how many people read those books, but I'd not have thought reversing the werewolf transformation would be that easy. Do you know of it?"

Remus could not suppress a grimace. "I've heard of it, yes."

"And does it work?"

Tonks was actually listening to him, looking for his expert opinion on the topic. Remus could have laughed. He certainly was an expert on the topic of werewolves – and not because of his failed apprenticeship. He tried not to let his turmoil show, tried to focus on the topic of Lockhart instead.

"It… does reverse a transformation. A single transformation, of course. If the werewolf survives, he or she will transform again the next full moon. There is no cure for lycantrophy, as you probably know."

" _If_ the werewolf survives?"

"As I said, there's no cure for lycantrophy. If it were that easy to separate the wolf from the human – to think of the werewolf transformation as if it were any other transfiguration and reverse it – then even a cure might've been possible. The homorphus spell doesn't come with any safety features. It uses all force necessary to – to get rid of the wolf. And it's certainly not designed to actively harm the human, but, well, the wolf _is_ the human…"

She looked horrified at his explanation. Remus felt oddly gratified.

"So that Wagga Wagga Werewolf… mightn't even be alive?" Tonks' hair lost some of its brightness again. "I've been trying to find him for weeks, now. All Lockhart told me was that he'd stolen the story from some Armenian warlock – an ugly warlock with no sense of style." She made a face. "He really seemed to think that justified what he'd done. Anyway, the warlock apparently saved a village—"

"I think I remember reading about it," said Remus, who did not particularly feel like hearing all the gory details of it again. "If what Lockhart wrote was the true version of events, then the warlock couldn't have done anything else – he had to protect all those muggles."

"But the thing is, I couldn't find any such reports in the news or to the local authorities in Armenia."

"But Wagga Wagga is in Australia. Are you sure Lockhart really meant an Armenian warlock? Did you check that he didn't confuse 'Armenian' for 'Australian'? It'd be such a silly mistake, but—"

"Wait, Wagga Wagga is a real place?"

Remus had to suppress a smile at her comically intrigued face. He nodded, accepted more enthusiastic thanks, and congratulated himself at his successful pretence of normality – at his deception.

Once again, as soon as he was alone, his mind jumped back to his former friends. He tried to remember their faces, tried to recognise – all those years later – what deception had looked like on them. As an adolescent, he had watched them lie to others constantly – to cover up for their incessant rule-breaking. And yet, he had not been able to see it, to recognise it for what it was when it had been directed at him. He had never spotted Pettigrew's nervous fidgeting – even though now he could recall it with absolute clarity. Neither had he ever noticed Black change topics the way he used to when he had something to hide. As an adolescent, Remus had always thought it such an obvious, distinct habit, too. He recalled it – a lazy, disinterested expression followed by a kind of counter-attack – a topic that was unpleasant for the other person. Not subtle at all.

Remus, who had been walking back to Hogwarts, came to a halt, his thoughts in a jumble all of a sudden. He had the very bizarre sensation of a déjà vu. Had he not seen that very thing a mere few hours ago?


	12. Chapter 12

"There you are!" said Sirius, as soon as Harry had stepped inside the Shrieking Shack.

"It's just a little past seven!" said Harry. "I had to make sure people saw me in the morning – you said so yourself. So. How are we getting there, then?"

Sirius went to one of the boarded windows. He opened it. Harry had to draw in his breath at the familiar sight of a sky blue car floating in front of it, giving him the oddest sort of déjà vu.

"By car, of course." Sirius smirked. "It took me a while to tame it, I'll admit. I'll tell you all about it on the way. I also repaired the invisibility feature – I left it off because I thought you'd get here before it was daylight—" He made a face at Harry's eye-roll. "—And I made it faster. If we hurry, we should be back by lunchtime."

Without further delay, Harry climbed through the window, and inside the Ford Anglia. They were on their way a moment later. The car really was faster, thought Harry, as he watched the Forbidden Forest whizz by underneath them.

"The flowers were a good idea," said Sirius. He was looking at them lying carefully on the back seat through the front mirror. "I forgot conjuring flowers won't be possible – what with the Trace."

Harry glanced at him and then quickly looked away again. Sirius had not forgotten that changing his appearance with magic would not be possible. Face shaved, his hair tied back and dressed in the sorts of muggle clothes that would not have stood out on Privet Drive, he had been almost unrecognisable when Harry had first seen him. He was an odd sight, to say the least, but at least no muggle they ran into would be able to identify him as the supposed criminal on the run shown on the news.

"How did you find this car?" Harry asked instead of responding to what Sirius had said.

"Well, we'd met already, hadn't we? I found it deep inside the Forbidden Forest, far enough from the dementors."

"And it, er, obeyed?" Harry was not sure how to phrase it. The car was not alive, but it had developed something of a personality.

"Not… precisely." Sirius went into a long-winded explanation of how the various enchantments put on the car must have interacted in unexpected ways to cause it to develop a personality. Arthur Weasley had enchanted the car with more enthusiasm than understanding of muggle technology.

"How can you say that?" Harry shook his head in denial. "It's brilliant! It becomes invisible and it can fly. Alright, so it crashed that one time – but then it saved us – you – from the acromantulas!"

Sirius nodded. "I'm not arguing that it's brilliant. I went to the effort of finding it, didn't I? But it's a bit of a happy accident, I think. Weasley himself wouldn't be able to reproduce exactly what he's done."

Harry did not think that was necessarily a bad thing. That car was no less wonderful for being unique.

Sirius read Harry's expression. He shrugged. "Personally, I prefer keeping as much of the actual technology as possible, and integrating whatever magic is necessary with it. I used to have this motorcycle – Have I ever mentioned it?"

Harry replied in the negative, and Sirius began another long tale about the flying motorcycle he used to own. Harry thought he had once dreamed of just such a motorcycle and said so, going along with the chatty mood.

A strange look passed over Sirius' face. "You did ride on it once, with Hagrid. I let him have it, to take you to the Dursleys."

Before Harry, obviously surprised at hearing about it, could ask any questions about the exact circumstances, Sirius quickly went back to talking about the motorcycle. "Now, that one was essentially a muggle machine. The magic was almost negligible – if you didn't know it was there, you might never have noticed."

"It could fly," said Harry, giving Sirius the satisfaction of showing his bewilderment.

Sirius grinned wolfishly. "I know."

Of course Sirius used to own a motorcycle, Harry thought to himself, but did not say. His appearance, his personality – his very being screamed motorcycle.

Except maybe how he looked just then. Harry had only seen him with a similar appearance in that photograph he had of his parents' wedding, where Sirius had been best man. With his face shaved as in the photograph, it was very obvious how much older he was now. The other two people in that photograph, on the other hand—

"I found another word yesterday," said Harry. It was an abrupt switch of topic, but it served as a distraction from the direction his thoughts had been taking. Sirius of course wanted to hear more, and Harry recounted his meeting with Lupin the previous morning. "I'm pretty sure this time the word really is 'secret', but I haven't got around to doing the calculation," he said.

"You talked to him yesterday?" Sirius said with some surprise. "The actual time of the full moon was only a couple hours after noon yesterday – didn't I tell you that? Remus would've been feeling miserable all throughout the day because of that – while he waited for the sun to set to transform."

"Er, yes, you did explain." Harry felt a vague twinge of empathy for Lupin. He shook it off quickly. "But that might've been what did it!" he went on with enthusiasm. "He actually talked about you and Pettigrew – told me you used to, er, argue a lot."

Harry really wanted to ask about that, wanted to know what sorts of things Sirius had said that had caused Lupin to suspect him. He recounted in detail what Lupin had told him, but Sirius did not pick up that topic. He was giving Harry an odd look.

"You don't pull any punches, do you?" he said. "Getting Remus to talk on the morning before the full moon – when he's at his weakest—"

It was not the reaction Harry had expected. He frowned. "Well, he's being stubborn."

"Right." Sirius was still looking at Harry strangely, but he also seemed amused.

Sirius switched topics this time, asking after breakfast, and at Harry's agreement, he landed the car on an empty road close to the motorway, before dropping the invisibility. He seemed to know where he was driving, and soon enough, they had reached a motorway service area. The breakfast was not particularly inspiring – especially compared to what Harry was served at Hogwarts – but to him it still felt like eating out. Sirius was less easily won over. He grimaced after taking the first bite.

"I'm not so sure taking the car was such a great idea," he groused. "If we'd apparated, we'd be back by now. No one pays attention to the Trace during term time – you're all – supposed to be – at Hogwarts."

"But if someone did check, they'd know I was somewhere else—"

"Yes, that was the stupid reason for doing all this." He rolled his eyes. "If the officials are keeping an eye on you, and track your magic to Godric's Hollow, and _then_ go there to check up on it, they might discover traces of my magic around you."

"Yeah. Only a little paranoid," deadpanned Harry.

Sirius gave him an unamused look, then drank some more of the uninspiring coffee, scowled at the mug, set it back down.

"Well, I did bring the time-turner." Harry made sure to lower his voice, even though they were among muggles. Sirius was not the only paranoid one at the moment.

"And I still say that's not a good idea. Going back in time by half a day – adding that many hours to your day – you'd fall asleep in the middle of the Hallowe'en feast, if nothing else." Sirius' voice had also dropped in volume.

"I know, I know. Plus, Hermione _really_ doesn't want me to use it." Harry rolled his eyes. "I promised to do my best not to need it."

"Oh, yes. Honesty." Sirius sighed. He had been told about Hermione's new word – and how she had discovered it. "Not the easiest character trait to have. She really wants to insist on only using the time-turner for classes – as she promised?"

Harry made a face. "Kind of." He told Sirius about Hermione getting the flowers for him using the time-turner. "But I guess she does want to try to be as honest as she can be. It's one of her words, after all. Even when it's a bit, er, inconvenient…"

"Her classmate's still upset with her, isn't she?" Sirius said impatiently. "Being honest in the face of everyone's disapproval – it's difficult, yes, and sometimes brave. Often the best option, despite the difficulties. But…" He frowned, weighed his words. "Maybe not always. Not caring how hurtful you're being isn't—" He shifted uncomfortably.

"Are you talking about yourself?" Harry caught on suddenly.

Sirius nodded. "Remus mentioned some of that to you yesterday, didn't he?" With a grimace, he told Harry of some of the arguments he got in, including about werewolf rights.

Harry listened with rapt attention, trying to understand the consequences that had followed. There was something else, though. "But, I meant, was it one of your words as well?"

Sirius drew back, hesitated, as if weighing whether to answer. Finally, a snorting laugh escaped him. "Yes. Good guess. Served me brilliantly during the Veritaserum questioning." He looked amused again. "First Hermione and now you. You're certainly discovering some interesting aspects of your personalities. I don't know about those classmates of yours – or your divination teacher. But I'm beginning to wonder what you've got in store for poor Remus."

Harry leaned back, pleased that Sirius thought he would be able to make Lupin see things his way after all. "He's a Marauder, isn't he? I'm sure he can deal with it."

Sirius' bark-like laughter followed his words. The amused mood stayed with them for quite some time – and they pretended it was still there for even longer than that. It was only after Sirius had landed the car again, saying that they were approaching the village, that they fell quiet.

~HP~

Hermione grabbed at her collar again, reflexively checking the absent time-turner, before remembering that Harry had it, and dropping her hand before Ron could notice. They followed the stream of older students towards the entrance, where McGonagall was ticking their names off her list of students who had signed forms. Outside, they were greeted by the late autumn morning chill.

The dementors were visible in the periphery, but Hermione knew they had been strictly warned not to go near the students. It was not a long walk to Hogsmeade, made even shorter by the chatter of the students all around, walking on as a group. The talk revolved around what everyone wanted to see, to do. The elder students were giving recommendations.

There was indeed enough to see in the village to keep them entertained for the whole day. The sightseeing was fun, even if they were worried about Harry. They explored the Hogsmeade high street to their hearts' content. Ron followed her into Dervish and Banges, the wizarding equipment shop, and let her look without rushing her. Hermione, in turn, did not complain when he went into Zonko's Joke Shop, and tried her best to be entertained by the merchandise there – at least until they saw Lee Jordan through the window. As expected, Fred and George were not too far behind, and Ron and Hermione beat a hasty retreat before they could be discovered. It would not do to give the twins an excuse to test Zonko's products on them.

They kept running into their classmates everywhere. Parvati and Padma were in the post office, debating which of the myriad of colour-coded owls to choose to send to an acquaintance in India. They ran into Dean in Dervish and Banges, where he was asking about repairs for something that looked like a watch. Seamus and Neville had gone along with him as well. Through the window, they saw several Hufflepuffs clustered around Susan Bones inside Honeydukes, admiring the laden shelves. Ron and Hermione considered going in as well, but decided to leave that for last, so they could buy all they wanted without having to drag the shopping bags for the rest of the day.

Later, they also ran into Lavender, who was leaving Gladrags Wizardwear, together with the Patil twins. She was in a good mood and invited Hermione to admire her new scarf. Ron had to suffer a bit through the ensuing talk about patterns and fabric, but Hermione was feeling uplifted, the rift with Lavender now mended.

Hermione began to notice the curious looks she and Ron were getting from some of their friends. She almost asked, but then Parvati actually commented about how well the two of them were getting along. Hermione bit back the retort that rose up in her. There was some truth to her dorm mate's words, she had to concede, after the initial feeling of denial had passed. She and Ron had been bickering – well, arguing, really – more than they used to recently.

Still. Hardly something to be commented on. Ron was one of her best friends. They were always spending time together – and not only when Harry was around. There was quidditch training, and muggle studies lessons…

They had only seen glimpses of Ron's brothers here and there, by the time they made their way to the Three Broomsticks for a mid-morning rest. Ron knew already what they would find on the menu, and had been giving her advice on what to get. They ordered butterbeer from Madam Rosmerta at the bar, before having found a place to sit. It was no easy task. There were students filling up the pub as far as the eye could see.

Madam Rosmerta appeared with their order of drinks and noticed their search. "Oh, dear. Seats are in short supply today, aren't they? Madam Puddyfoot's might've more seats, though. The older couples prefer to go later, usually."

Hermione was about to decline, when she remembered what sort of place Madam Puddyfoot's was. Ron caught on quicker that the landlady thought them a couple and grew red immediately. They both rushed to explain otherwise.

Before the embarrassing moment could lengthen, Ron spotted a group of three older boys vacating a table at a somewhat awkward spot next to the staircase. Beggars could hardly be choosers. Happy to have found a spot, he and Hermione awkwardly stood next to the table – to make sure no one else would take it from them – until the boys had left.

It was not a good moment to be found by all three of Ron's brothers. But there they were, inside the pub, and had apparently witnessed their exchange with Madam Rosmerta. Fred and George sat at a larger table, surrounded by several of their classmates – including Lee and Angelina. Percy was standing behind their chairs, saying something to them that even from a distance was recognisable as an admonishment. As soon as Ron and Hermione had sat down, they walked over to greet them – after a fashion.

"Now, now, Ronnie. It won't do to stare after Madam Rosmerta when you've come here with your _girlfriend_ ," George mock-admonished his brother, enjoying the younger boy's sputtering denial.

Partly to take the attention away from the two of them, Hermione brought up the alcohol content in butterbeer. "My parents warned me against drinking it, you know. They think it's rather medieval that children our age are allowed to drink alcohol – not to mention the amount of sugar in this." Not that she minded the sugar – it was certainly making for a very enjoyable drink.

Percy shook his head with a knowing air. "The alcohol in butterbeer is hardly worth mentioning. Besides, it's not medieval at all, but rather from the 1500's. Actually, it was in the Middle Ages, that drinks with a higher alcohol content were banned from children – at least in the wizarding world."

"But could I get drunk from it?" said Ron, coming to her defence. "If I really tried—"

Percy drew himself up pompously. "Not if I have anything to say about it – and I do," he added, to forestall his brothers. "Besides, Madam Rosmerta simply wouldn't sell you that much of it—"

"Maybe if you keep reassuring her that Hermione's really not your girlfriend, she might—" Fred began to say, getting his twin to laugh.

Ron, doing his best to ignore his brothers, was pointing out a customer that Hermione had to agree among quiet giggles looked suspiciously like an ogre. He stopped all of a sudden, his eyes sharpening. A moment later, he said something banal, in a slightly raised voice, waited a heartbeat, until his brothers had looked away. He nudged Hermione, then very subtly gestured for her to look at the ogre. Then he got up and Hermione followed suit, among Fred's jeers. She ignored him.

"Did that – that ogre – just shrink a bit?" she hissed at Ron, as soon as they were hidden among the mass of people in the pub.

"Yeah. Do you remember who bragged to us that she could do such things?"

Hermione gasped. "That auror – or trainee. What was her name—"

Ron nodded. "Tonks, I think. If it's really her, she's just become agitated."

They watched the strange customer lean this way and that, contorting in a way that suggested she – or he – was trying to get a good look at something, while hiding it from view.

"Oh, if only we could've taken Harry's invisibility cloak," groused Hermione.

Ron nodded. "Might've come in handy. But maybe we can do without…"

They shared a long, serious look. Then Hermione nodded. " _Inobservatus_." She cast the spell on both of them. "With this many people around it might be enough."

The ogre was getting up. As quickly as they dared, Ron and Hermione made their way closer to the ogre, who was headed towards the door, as they had thought. They followed behind the strange customer, doing their best to dodge everyone else tripping over them – failing to notice them until the last second due to the disillusionment charm.

There were a fair number of people outside in the street, making it possible to follow along despite the fast pace – at least for a while. They were lucky that their target tripped over a barely-there gap in the cobblestones, allowing them to catch up, as well as hear her soft cursing. In the voice of a young, _human_ woman. When she had reached an alleyway next to a house with barred windows, her form began to shrink, taking on the appearance of the familiar pink-haired auror trainee.

"What took you so long!" The voice belonged to an angry-sounding man out of sight. "He might've already left, with how slow you're being!"

Hermione thought that sounded a bit harsh. Tonks had walked so fast, she and Ron had barely been able to keep up. Before she could look at Ron to communicate this, she felt him push her forward none too gently. She went along, to avoid drawing attention. There were old cauldrons stacked up on top of a barrel next to the house with the barred windows. They smelled funny close up. Hermione was not at all sure they were cover enough for them, but it was too late to argue with Ron – the two adults were only a few feet away from them.

The man was middle-aged, with a weathered face, short greying hair and a trench coat – the image of an auror.

"Well, I'm supposed to keep an eye on the kids, aren't I?" said Tonks. "Not to mention, stay undetected. I couldn't just apparate away—"

"Better that than risk his presence at Hogwarts! Dawlish and his crackpot ideas about Godric's Hollow—" Instead of explaining what he was talking about, he cast a spell.

Hermione recognised the wand movement, even if the spell had been cast non-verbally. Not that it was not obvious what it had done: she could no longer hear what was being said.

"Damn," Ron whispered next to her. "You don't think – Godric's Hollow – Harry and Sirius—"

Hermione's initial wish to admonish him, for taking this unnecessary risk, vanished. The little they had heard had sounded ominous. Who was supposedly at Hogwarts? And what _ideas_ about Godric's Hollow were they talking about?

Before she could answer, a third person ran towards the alleyway, passing them on his way. He had failed to notice them, so focused was he on getting where he was headed.

"Savage, Tonks, there you are!" he wheezed. "We have to go—"

The other man – Savage, apparently – began to say something, then remembered the spell he had cast, undoing it. "You don't say!" he finally ground out, not hiding his displeasure. "We've been waiting, if you hadn't noticed. You're late!"

"Well, there was—" The newcomer stopped, looked around himself, then drew his wand.

Hermione was faster. " _Confund_ _o_ _!_ " she hissed as quietly as she could, before the man could cast his spell.

It worked. He waved his wand in the correct pattern to cast the protective spell, but they could still hear what he was saying.

"There's been another development, haven't you heard? The other one's been sighted in Godric's Hollow—"

"So they really were right about that!" said Tonks, sounding alarmed and surprised.

"Looks like it. Dawlish will be happy, at least."

"One of us has to go to Hogwarts, I reckon," the newcomer said.

"I'm going to Godric's Hollow—" began Tonks, but Savage cut her off.

"You're a trainee. Pettigrew is bad enough, but… You're going to Hogwarts."

A moment later, the men had disapparated. Tonks swore softly, then turned around and ran – likely towards Hogwarts.

"Oh, no. Oh, no. What did I do?" said Hermione, as soon as she was out of earshot. She felt like panicking at her own audacity. "Confounding an auror – oh, I can't believe I did that—"

"That was very brave of you, Hermione," Ron said earnestly. He did not even attempt to downplay it. "And very well done. You managed it by yourself, and the guy looked almost normal – rather than completely confused—"

"Brave!" Hermione's voice sounded shrill to her own ears, but she could not take control of it. "I wasn't feeling brave. But if Harry's in trouble—"

"And when is he ever not?" said Ron grimly. "If they suspected Sirius might go to Godric's Hollow today – But why would they have?"

"Well, they must've been talking about him – who else would've caused that much of an uproar? Oh, I knew going there was a bad idea – And Harry's there now as well."

"He said the _other one_ ," said Ron. "Then that must mean Pettigrew's at Hogwarts!"

"Ron, we need to check the map," said Hermione. "Maybe Harry's already back, and we're worried for no reason."

Ron did not reply. Neither of them believed that to be the case and they both knew it. With pale, drawn faces, they walked back into The Three Broomsticks, back to where they had left their bags. Picking them up, they left, ignoring the older Weasley boys' questions. Briskly, they walked away from the thatched houses, towards the solitary Shrieking Shack.

Once they were far enough away from everyone else, Ron drew Harry's copy of the Marauders' Map from his pocket, left with them because Sirius' copy was serving him and Harry for the day. He quietly spoke the passphrase, before looking for Harry's name among the few left inside the castle – to no avail. There were too many names to read them all, but Harry's name was not visible in the likely places – like their common room, the library, the great hall.

They did not see Pettigrew's name anywhere, either.

Grim-faced, Ron and Hermione stared at each other for a long moment, their thoughts racing.

"Let's go back," Hermione implored. "I can't go out there and act like I'm having fun. At least in Hogwarts, we can talk – watch the map—"

"We can't," said Ron, looking glum. "If we're there, and Harry's not with us, it'll immediately draw attention to his absence."

~HP~

It was sheer luck that Sirius had left the invisibility enchantment on after they had landed. It was even more luck that Harry recognised the auror in muggle clothing, having seen him at Hogwarts a mere few months ago. Sirius cursed, stopping the car.

"Maybe—" Harry swallowed after being frantically shushed by his godfather. "Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe it's just some muggle," he went on very quietly.

"Maybe he just lives here – a fair number of people in this village are magical—" Sirius stopped mid-sentence, observing the man in question.

Harry did likewise. The auror was shifting awkwardly, as if trying to take a look at something away from prying eyes.

Sirius cursed again. "Harry, grab your invisibility cloak now. Then get away from the car as fast as you can. As far as you can. Go."

"What? No, wait—"

"No, he's noticed something! Maybe he heard the car _he couldn't see_. He'll find us – me – any moment now. Go!" He reached over to open the back door, on the other side from the auror. Harry stopped arguing, swallowed down the bile threatening to rise, haphazardly wrapped himself in his invisibility cloak, and rushed out of the car.

He had to be quiet, he knew. He also had to be fast. Sirius would not use any magic, until he was sure Harry was far enough away to not activate the Trace.

He had gone all the way up the road, when he turned around. Well over a hundred feet. Far enough to avoid the Trace, but certainly close enough to see – and hear. Sirius was out of the car – which remained invisible. He was being attacked – stalked – by two aurors now. A moment later, Harry saw a third apparate not too far from him, running down the road towards Sirius.

"Call in the hit wizards!" one of the aurors shouted to the new arrival.

Harry had to do something. Quickly. But what? Frantically looking around, he saw a family of muggles – parents and a pair of teenaged boys – walking along the street crossing the one he was on. They were chatting calmly, completely unaware of the mayhem going on so nearby. Muggle-repelling charms, Harry thought, remembering Hermione's long instructions. In some ways very similar to the simple disillusionment charm.

Harry had an idea. Quickly, he broke off a branch from a shrub in someone's front garden and threw at the muggles. Then another. Then he picked up a rock. The boys by then were running towards him. He ran down the street, while he threw the rock, making sure they noticed it floating in mid-air. An obvious breach of the Statute of Secrecy. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he felt a twinge, an acknowledgement that what he was doing was crossing all sorts of lines. But he did not have time to worry about such things.

He did not dare get any closer to Sirius and the aurors, but the muggles did. Just like with Inobservatus, once the thing that was to be hidden was noticed, the spell stopped working. The muggles could notice the aurors now, could see the spells thrown about.

A moment later, the aurors noticed the muggles, as well, who were shouting and gawking at them, the boys running towards them, in the line of fire, asking about the 'Hallowe'en display'. They could not ignore the bystanders, had to obey the law, protect the Statute of Secrecy.

It was enough of a distraction. Sirius apparated away, among the astonished shouts of the muggles, before the aurors could deal with the situation.

Harry, his heart still jumping in his throat, slowly turned around and walked away from them. His knees felt like jelly, but he forced himself to put one foot in front of the other. Just a little lane that curved to the left brought him to a small square – the centre of the village. He recognised what looked like a war memorial in the middle of the square as the disguised statue of his parents and himself as a baby. Sirius had told him about that. The church was already visible from there.

Harry felt so jittery by the time he reached the war memorial and watched it transform into the statue, that he almost took a rest. But he had to find Sirius, and he vaguely suspected – hoped – his godfather would meet him at his parents' graves. The statue was difficult to look at, besides. Those happy, smiling faces did not at all resemble the image he had of his own family. His parents were gone, and he had almost just lost Sirius as well. In fact—

There were a few muggles stepping out of the church when he got there. The morning service must have just ended. The invisibility cloak was still around Harry, so they could not see him as he passed them. They could see someone else, though. Padfoot.

Harry let out a breath he had not been aware he had been holding, as he watched the muggles take a wide berth around the huge, shaggy dog, sat almost in the middle of the road, keeping a close watch of the entire village square.

"Hey," whispered Harry when he got there, trying his best not to attract attention. "Here I am."

Padfoot inclined his head, to show he had understood. He got up, and almost ran into Harry, still hidden under the invisibility cloak. He did not stop, however, but continued to trot down the street leading out of the village in almost the same direction from which they had entered. It did not take them long to reach the point where the lane turned into open country again. Padfoot came to a halt behind the nearest thicket, and turned back into a human – one of the very few bits of magic not detected by the Trace.

"I should admonish you for taking such a risk back there, but you might've saved my life – or at least my freedom," Sirius said. His eyes were shadowed, and he looked more like the Azkaban prisoner he had been than he had in a long while.

Harry drew back the invisibility cloak. "It was because of me you got into that mess in the first place. If you'd been able to apparate right away, instead of having to wait for me to be far enough away—"

"I mightn't have recognised that auror, though. And I certainly wouldn't have gone in an invisible car," Sirius said more lightly than either of them felt.

Harry did not have a reply for that. He did not want to imagine that scenario. "How are we going to get home?" he asked instead. "We still can't apparate. So, public transport?"

Sirius shook his head. "The muggle version would take forever. This village is fairly cut off. The nearest railway station is quite some distance away. And I'd really rather not risk the Knight Bus now, when I can't transfigure you. Someone could easily recognise you. No. I think Weasley's car is still our best option."

"But the aurors!"

"I don't think they're aware it exists. I left the car under the disillusionment spell. Not the one you know – the proper one, that makes you almost invisible. The auror found the counter for it in no time, but I don't think he'd have looked for a car afterwards."

"Not a very likely way for you to travel, is it? Not if you don't have to take me along." Harry shook his head. "But they'll be watching that street, won't they?"

Sirius frowned. "I've no idea. I can't figure out why they're here in the first place. It seems to be a setup for me. But how – _why_ – would they have expected me to turn up?"

"Maybe Pettigrew somehow gave it away? Maybe he's been caught?" The thought sent a jolt of nervous energy through Harry. It was something he wished for, yet it held so many dangers.

Sirius shook his head. "There aren't any wards around the graveyard – I checked before you got there. Aurors inside the village, yet not where I'd actually want to go…"

"Is there anything else in this village you might've come for?"

"No." Sirius grimaced. "But maybe they thought so. Your parents' old cottage…"

Harry felt the air leave his lungs. His eyes darted back to where he could see the cottages of the village they had walked past. Any one of them could have been the one where he used to live with his parents. And he had not even thought about that until Sirius had mentioned it.

"We haven't gone past it, of course," came Sirius' subdued voice. "It's on the other side of the village."

"We can't risk going there now, then, because the aurors might be waiting there," said Harry. He was not sure if he felt disappointed or relieved.

Sirius nodded. He was looking away, avoiding Harry's eyes. "It's not a nice sight, anyway," he said softly. "Part of the top floor was blown apart by the rebounding curse. It's all overgrown and rusty and—" He stopped. Swallowed. "Besides, it's a kind of memorial now. There's a magical sign at the gate. It appears to all magical visitors."

Harry nodded. "Right. So the wards around the car—"

"Yes." Sirius cleared his throat. "There wasn't any warding around that street, just that one patrolling auror. He cast a basic anti-apparition spell, but I managed to counter it easily enough. They can't have added any serious warding on such short notice – especially when they have the muggles to deal with as well."

"I'll go back—" they both began to say at the same time.

Sirius won the ensuing argument, but Harry convinced him to take his invisibility cloak, as well as keep him updated over their talking mirrors. When he returned, Harry saw that he had brought along the flowers.

"There's a few dark detectors, but they were easy enough to avoid. Not using dark magic and not having murderous intentions is all it takes – for the most part. I parked the car some distance away from that street, closer to the church. Then I also checked out your parents' cottage – I didn't get too close," he added to forestall Harry's objections. "There are definitely some wards there…"

"And… you brought along the flowers," said Harry. "Hermione had to steal them, had to find stasis charms to keep them looking fresh—"

Sirius nodded instead of arguing. "We took all that risk to get here. We'll go."

They walked back towards the little church, now quite empty, and behind it, past a kissing gate, to the graveyard. Harry, covered by his invisibility cloak, carefully, quietly unlatched the gate, and Padfoot pushed it open. Harry looked at the nearest tombstone, surprised to find the name Abbott there. Padfoot did not linger, though. He was walking deeper into the graveyard, clearly knowing where he was going. Harry followed along.

Padfoot came to a halt finally, sitting down in front of a double grave – head lowered, posture hunched, completely still.

Harry stopped next to him. He had been surprised to see graves with the name Dumbledore only a couple rows back and he almost asked about that. But as he lowered the flowers on his parents' grave, he felt as if something heavy were pressing on his chest.

The headstone was made of white marble, newer than many others in the graveyard. The inscription on it was easy to read – his parents' names, followed by their birth and death dates. Below that, followed the words:

_The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death._

Harry saw the words blur and only then noticed his tears. Padfoot heard his hitched breath and a soft sound escaped him in response. Harry knelt down next to him, until they were leaning against each other, united in their grief for the lost part of their family.

They stayed there for longer than was prudent, and it was Harry, who finally put his hand on Padfoot's head and nudged him to go.

They made it safely back to the Shrieking Shack. With Sirius' help, who was watching his map and giving him instructions through the talking mirror, Harry slipped back inside the castle. He had barely stepped away from the statue of the one-eyed witch, when Ron and Hermione assailed him, bombarding him with questions, telling him about the aurors they had overheard. Harry began telling them of his own meeting with the aurors, but Hermione interrupted.

"We've been waiting for hours!" she all but shouted, her voice shrill. "Not knowing what might've happened to you – and no way of finding out!" She threw her arms around him. Her breath hitched. "Oh, but you're back. You're alright!"

Ron had also been looking relieved, but his eyebrows began to draw in a tiny frown. "Harry, what about the time-turner?" he said very quietly. "How come you didn't use it?"

Harry, who had been planning to do just that at that very moment, frowned in response. If his friends had not seen him on the map, then he could not have been back in time – which meant something was about to prevent him from going back in time just then. By the time they had all thought through the twisted logic of the time-turner, arriving at the same strange conclusion, Hermione was frowning as well.


	13. Chapter 13

Time-turners did more than let you be in two places at once. Under some circumstances, the mere fact of having access to one gave one a certain type of knowledge of the future. Harry was hit by the full extent of this realisation sometime after seeing Dumbledore walking up the marble staircase, but before hearing what the headmaster had to say to him.

Harry and his friends had only just stepped away from the statue of the one-eyed witch, walked along the third-floor corridor towards the great staircase while they talked. Harry had still been trying to puzzle out why it appeared as though he had not gone back in time, even though he had still been planning to do just that. He had only delayed to hear about Pettigrew's break-in into Hogwarts during those hours he had been away. Hermione had actually been cautioning him, warning him not to run into Pettigrew accidentally-on-purpose while back in time.

Dumbledore caught Harry's eye as soon as he saw the boy, and walked purposefully in his direction. Harry had no way to avoid the meeting, no way to go back in time before talking with the headmaster. He and his friends took the hint and approached Dumbledore.

"Did you leave the castle today to go to Hogsmeade, Mr Potter?" asked the headmaster as soon as he had reached the three friends.

"What?" Harry felt his mouth go dry, tried to think of something intelligent to say, but his thoughts felt frozen.

"Considering your penchant for sneaking out of Hogwarts, this is hardly an unusual circumstance. However, considering the day's events, I believe a little – update – on both our sides might be in order. Could you please come to my office after the Hallowe'en feast? The password is 'sherbet lemon'. Oh, and I believe you've all been asked to stay in the great hall for now." And that was that. He had walked away from them a moment later.

Harry was the first to break the tense, worried silence he left behind. "I guess that's why I didn't use the time-turner. Dumbledore knows something, and he knows I have access to a time-turner."

"Yes, even if you go back in time, it won't undo what Dumbledore already suspects," Hermione said slowly. "And if he has a way of telling if you used the time-turner recently—"

"Yes, better not use it. It'd only make it look like you've got something to hide," said Ron.

"But he does have something to hide," said Hermione.

"Maybe it won't be so bad," said Harry after a beat. "Dumbledore thinks I was in Hogsmeade. At least, that's what he said."

Neither Harry nor his friends were entirely reassured by this. They tried their best to prepare for Harry's upcoming meeting with the headmaster as best they could. While walking back to the great hall, Ron and Hermione handed over the sweets they had brought back with them for Harry to eat. Harry had returned quite a bit later than anticipated, and had missed lunch. Meanwhile, his friends gave him a detailed account of what had happened in Hogsmeade, and what they knew of the happenings at Hogwarts.

It was not a whole lot. Hermione repeated in as much detail as she could recall what the aurors had said. After that, she had agreed with Ron to stay in the village, and they had done some shopping to distract themselves. Before too long, though, the teachers who had gone along to Hogsmeade had assembled the students there, and told them of Pettigrew's suspected break-in into Hogwarts.

"What exactly happened, though?" asked Harry. "Who saw him? Where was he seen?"

Ron's groan ended in a chuckle, as his and Hermione's eyes met.

"Crookshanks found him," said Hermione with unmistakeable pride and glee. "Some of the first- and second-years saw him chasing madly after a rat in the common room. The rat – Wormtail – got away, ran out the portrait hole, but, well, Ginny knows Crookshanks, of course, and she followed him to calm him down."

"Ginny?" exclaimed Harry. "Is she alright?"

Ron nodded. "She caught Crookshanks quickly enough. Not sure if that was for the best, but…"

"What about Pettigrew, then? How did they know it was him?"

"Dumbledore was passing by close to the Gryffindor tower," Hermione said slowly. "When he saw Ginny running after Crookshanks, he asked her about him. As soon as he heard about a rat, he was on alert – or so Ginny said. He – investigated. I'm not exactly sure how, or what he did, but he figured out it was Pettigrew."

"Dumbledore went into our dorms, Harry, and cast all sorts of spells," Ron said with a frown. "I think Pettigrew might've been in there."

"It was so lucky you were away, Harry," Hermione said with a little shudder.

"Lucky?" Harry frowned. "I don't know… Lots of coincidences happened today, don't you think?"

Ron and Hermione considered this, before slowly nodding.

"Even Dumbledore just happening to be outside the Gryffindor tower… And now he wants to talk to you," said Hermione.

Ron went back to updating Harry on what had happened in Hogsmeade. After being told of the break-in, the students had all been forced to stay in large groups, accompanied by a teacher. A couple hours later, they had received word that Pettigrew had not been found inside the castle, and the teachers had insisted on taking all the students back. It would not do to leave the younger students in an almost empty castle.

Once they reached the great hall, the three friends settled in a quiet spot along the wall, a little ways away from everyone else, for privacy, but close enough to hear what was being discussed. It looked like all the students were there, and the great hall was filled with the buzz of conversation, reminiscent of mealtimes. The usual high-spirited banter was replaced by more sombre tones, however. There were several teachers there as well, some walking around the hall, some seated at the high table.

"We're still supposed to stay together, because the teachers haven't finished searching the grounds yet. I think there are some aurors helping them as well," Hermione continued the explanation. "But as soon as we saw you on the map, we sneaked away to talk to you," she ended on a whisper.

Ron nodded. "We'd better be careful now, though. Pettigrew's definitely not on the map – Hermione and I checked everywhere. But the dementors have been allowed on the grounds. They'd have liked nothing better than to search the castle as well, but Dumbledore wouldn't let them in. He told so to Percy, who actually asked him why the dementors weren't helping." Ron shook his head in exasperation at his elder brother.

Harry decided not to mirror-call Sirius until he knew if there was reason to worry. Besides, he had been absent for long enough. Sneaking away again, out of the great hall, did not much appeal to him. He also refrained from asking Ginny too many questions about her run-in with Pettigrew. She was sitting close by, but Percy, Fred and George were right next to her, doing their best to distract her from just that.

The time until the feast dragged on. Harry, Ron and Hermione tried to join the conversations around them, centred on the day's events. There was a sense of relief among the rest of the student body, that it had been Pettigrew and not Black, who had made it inside the castle. (Harry and his friends were somewhat less reassured by this.) Everyone was asking the same question: " _How did he get in?_ " Some Ravenclaw suggested he had apparated, another Hufflepuff thought he might have disguised himself. Dean Thomas even said he could have flown in.

Hermione shook her head, reminding them of the enchantments put on the castle, including the anti-apparition wards, and the alarms on the entrance and secret passages. "And I'd like to see the disguise that'd fool the dementors. They're guarding every single entrance to the grounds. They'd have seen him fly in too," she said.

"Would they, though?" Harry told his friends very quietly, making sure only they heard him. "They're not very good at dealing with animagi, or they'd never have believed Sirius had died. And they've never met Pettigrew – as either a human or a rat."

Harry received tense looks from his friends at his mention of Sirius' name, but he did not explain himself. It only took them a moment to remember that this was all well-known to everyone now, and would not sound suspicious.

Hermione frowned. "I'm sure Professor Dumbledore and the aurors have thought of that…"

The time for the feast finally arrived. More of the teachers started trickling into the great hall, taking up seats at the high table. Considering it was the day after the full moon, Harry was surprised to see Lupin make his way there as well, flopping down into a seat ungracefully. He looked ill and exhausted – even worse than he had on the Hogwarts Express. Snape had been one of the last professors to arrive. Throughout the meal, his eyes kept flickering towards Lupin.

Dumbledore also arrived, though he did not stay for long. He gave them all a quick update, telling them that the search had ended without Pettigrew having been found. He was reassuring, telling the students that the school was safe – safer than before, and that they could once again move around safely within the walls of the castle.

The feast was a subdued affair, despite the excellent food. The hall had been decorated with candle-filled pumpkins and a cloud of fluttering live bats, and flaming orange streamers, which were swimming lazily across the stormy ceiling like brilliant watersnakes. It all looked a little out of place. The affected spookiness clashed with the actual danger and mystery of the day's events.

The feast finished with the ghosts attempting to entertain them with a bit of formation gliding. They did not quite manage to distract them from their worries, but Harry still thought Nearly Headless Nick's reenactment of his botched beheading had been a success. It had taken his mind off the meeting with the headmaster, if only for a few minutes.

Afterwards, Harry convinced his friends to follow the rest of the Gryffindors to the Gryffindor Tower, before walking to Dumbledre's office by himself. The headmaster was waiting for him in the circular office, and offered him a seat. Harry sat on the edge, trying and failing to keep his nervousness under control.

It was a different atmosphere from the ones he remembered from his visits the year before. No matter how nervous he had been, the office had always felt welcoming somehow. At the moment, Dumbledore's piercing gaze was directed at him across the claw-footed desk, while Harry was averting his eyes. He felt the need to start explaining himself, but did not know where to start, so he remained silent. Fawkes, sitting on the perch behind him, was also oddly quiet.

"Mr Potter, it is under difficult circumstances that I must speak with you," Dumbledore finally began with a sigh. "As you know, I'm not unaware of your penchant for getting around – and out of – school undetected."

"I—" Harry swallowed, noticing his mouth had gone dry. "I haven't been to Hogsmeade today, Professor." A paltry excuse, and his quiet voice reflected it. He did not sound convincing to his own ears.

"You have also shown a great deal of independence in your actions," Dumbledore went on, in that same level, considered tone. "A great deal of trust in your own judgement." Dumbledore paused there.

Harry's thoughts were racing, trying to piece together what Dumbledore was alluding to.

"We've had some very enlightening conversations last year, and I believe I, myself, also showed a fair amount of trust in your judgement and assessment of the situation. I also believed your judgement led you to rely on the adults responsible around you, like your teachers. Like me."

Harry was feeling lost, unable to guess where the conversation was going. "You're the greatest wizard of our time," he said the truth as he saw it during the small pause. He felt himself frowning in incomprehension.

There was a moment of silence, interrupted by Fawkes shifting in the background. He gave an odd mournful sound, before falling silent again.

Dumbledore shook his head slowly. "The last time we had one of our conversations was in the Leaky Cauldron this summer. And… it gave me much to think about."

Harry's heart started racing. "About me sneaking out of school and taking the Knight Bus?" he asked, hoping that was the case—

"Among other things." Dumbledore sighed again. "I thought a great deal about the way you described your confrontation with Pettigrew and Black – during our conversation in the Leaky Cauldron, but later I also remembered what you and your friends said after the event, in Professor McGonagall's office."

Harry's heart skipped a beat. By now, he feared his face was giving away much of his inner turmoil, but he felt paralysed, unable to think of something helpful to say.

A moment later, he realised with dawning horror that he need not have bothered. Dumbledore began with Harry's comments in the Leaky Cauldron, when he had suggested that the aurors were needlessly worried about hunting down Sirius. Then Dumbledore brought up the confrontation in the Chamber of Secrets, when Sirius had turned up at virtually the same time as Ron and Hermione.

This Harry had managed to explain away before, and might have attempted to again, but then the headmaster went on to tell him about having asked the Knight Bus conductor about him and his friends.

"It was a vague hunch, but the thought that I might be right was disturbing enough that I had to ask. It was still with some surprise that I learned that the driver recalled picking up three Hogwarts aged children from Hogsmeade last year. The reason he remembered was of course the astounding – _creature_ – that was accompanying them. The very image of the grim, or so I was told."

Harry swallowed convulsively under Dumbledore's piercing gaze. He tried to ask – unnecessarily – what the headmaster was getting at, but his mouth was too dry.

"I believe you told Professor Trelawney that you thought the grim was misunderstood? Professor McGonagall told us all about it with obvious pride. Her opinion of you has been very high ever since those events in the Chamber of Secrets."

Harry could hear the admonishment, the deliberately disappointed tone, could see the serious, sombre expression on the headmaster's face. There was no trace of the usual twinkle in his eyes. On the contrary. At that moment it was very obvious that Harry was talking to the chief warlock, the wizard that even Voldemort feared. Even Fawkes added a volley of protesting sounds as the moment lengthened.

He had to speak, Harry thought despairingly. He had to think of something – some way to explain. Perhaps the whole truth of the matter—

"What if he is misunderstood?" Harry forced past his lips. He wanted to go on, but the headmaster's abruptly averted gaze stopped him.

No, it would not be that easy. Dumbledore had already realised that Harry believed Sirius to be innocent. The problem was that he did not seem inclined to believe Harry's judgement on the matter.

And did Harry have conclusive proof? he thought frantically. There had been that very first confrontation between Padfoot and Wormtail, in the Weasleys' paddock. Harry tried to remember what exactly Pettigrew had said, what had finally convinced him and his friends of Sirius' innocence. In the end, it partly came down to trust. He had begun to trust Sirius.

But if Dumbledore did not trust Harry's judgement—

"I'm sure we'll be able to see if that is indeed so, if we get to the bottom of this," Dumbledore said quietly, drawing parchment and quill closer. "I do believe you understand why this is something that needs to be investigated—"

Fawkes shrieked, interrupting him.

Harry's heart gave a lurch, and he jumped to his feet, ready to start ranting—

"Now hold on a second!"

The new voice was so unexpected that it took Harry a moment to place it. There, on the familiar spot on the shelf, was the Sorting Hat, now with the gap in its brim visibly open.

"What do you think you're doing?" the Hat went on in a loud, brash voice.

"I'm going to write to the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement," Dumbledore told it in a mildly curious tone, not quite taking objection to being questioned. "I believe you know of Madam Bones?" he added, turning to Harry.

As soon as Dumbledore turned back to the parchment, just as Harry had sat back down, to try to think of a way to convince the headmaster of Sirius' innocence, there was the sound of the birdcage being opened behind Harry's back. A moment later, Fawkes flew over their heads, picked up the Sorting Hat and dropped it on Dumbledore's head. Then he landed on Harry's lap, cosying up to him.

"You'll do no such thing!" the Hat said smartly. "Really, Headmaster, such a singularly ill thought-out idea – I'm not going to deign to call it a plan—"

"Now, that is quite enough," Dumbledore interrupted.

Harry remembered suddenly that the Sorting Hat had looked into his mind the year before, and knew from him of Sirius' innocence. For a moment, he felt like he had been given an unexpected reprieve. But as the Sorting Hat went on, he felt his hope fade. Its rude interruption was hardly going to help him—

Dumbledore carefully straightened the Hat, pulling it above his eyes. He regarded his phoenix with a curious expression, and ever so slowly, his grim expression began to soften. "Yes, you did have another look into Harry's head…" he spoke absently, apparently communicating with the Sorting Hat.

Harry knew the Sorting Hat was not in the habit of sharing what it saw in someone's head. Besides, would Dumbledore believe it? If Harry could be tricked by Sirius, then why should the Sorting Hat be any different?

"It seems, I'm being overruled," Dumbledore said, sounding surprised, yet genial. "Of course, if there were reason to believe that you haven't been misled to put your trust in the wrong person, Mr Potter—"

Harry opened his mouth to speak, beginning to feel hopeful again. Fawkes was warming him from the inside out, renewing his courage. Maybe the headmaster was willing to listen after all—

"Weren't you talking about trusting that boy's judgement a minute ago?" the Hat interrupted again, before Harry had managed to speak. "Besides, just how do you suppose those reasons are to be discovered? By passing volatile information to the officials under Fudge's government and hoping for the best?"

"Really now, that is hardly a way to speak about the minister—"

"I'm only saying what I find in your head. I'm just a hat, after all—"

Dumbledore pulled off the Sorting Hat at that point, turning with a firm stride to the shelf to deposit it in its place. Fawkes, in Harry's lap, began making protesting noises right away.

"Alright, alright," Dumbledore said in a conciliatory voice. "I concede the point. This matter is too important, and too full of mysteries, to approach with anything but the greatest care. I'll investigate myself—" He regarded his still distressed phoenix, before turning his attention to Harry. "—and let you know before taking any further action," he added.

Harry nodded. He thought of telling Dumbledore everything, but decided against it. The headmaster could have asked Harry but had not. He had questioned Harry's judgement instead. Harry was fairly sure nothing would convince him as much as finding out for himself. "Uh, yes. And, maybe, then we can talk," he said.

Before Dumbledore could dismiss him, Harry thought of something else. "Professor, can I ask – What was it that made you tell me about this today? Or – or – what made you think I'd been in Hogsmeade?"

"Ah," Dumbledore said after only a moment's hesitation, "of course. As usual, you have questions for me as well. Very well." He leaned back in his chair, beginning to look more relaxed. Fawkes chose that moment to fly over to him, making himself comfortable in the headmaster's lap. "I'd like one more thing clarified before I answer. Your belief that the grim is _misunderstood_ – it doesn't extend to his acquaintance, the rat, does it?"

Harry vehemently shook his head.

"I see. Well, then. To answer your question—" Dumbledore gestured to the portraits of past headmasters and -mistresses along the walls. "It is virtually impossible for anyone to enter this office without me knowing about it. Oh, it's possible to hide who came in, or what they did, but the fact that someone was in here is nearly impossible to hide.

"I was gone for an hour this morning, and when I returned, I knew that my office had been invaded in the interim. The culprit had managed to cover his or her tracks, even from the portraits – a useful little charm that made it impossible for them to see.

"So I tried to discover a possible reason for the break-in." The headmaster gestured to some of the curious silver instruments spread all over the office. "These keep track of a number of – projects – that I'm interested in. Among other things, there are some that keep track of the well-being of students – those inside Hogwarts grounds, that is."

"Ah," said Harry. "Your instruments told you that I wasn't at school?"

"Indeed. At that point, I still did not know that it had anything at all to do with Pettigrew, but following a hunch, I decided to investigate if your absence – and the most likely place where you should've been – your dorm. I hoped it would help me discover more about the break-in. And indeed it did. I almost managed to run into Pettigrew in his animagus form outside of Gryffindor tower. So was it purely by chance, then, that you were in Hogsmeade today?"

"I wasn't in Hogsmeade." Harry deliberated for a moment how much to reveal. "I… was in Godric's Hollow." He grimaced.

The headmaster's eyebrows travelled up his forehead. "I see… That rather leaves me with more questions…"

"Professor, do you know how he got in?"

"I'm afraid I don't. Neither do I know what exactly he was after. Not that there were no traces – Pettigrew's magic was all over my office. As to what he was actually after…"

"Dean Thomas thought he could've flown in. And Hermione had to agree that the dementors mightn't have been able to stop Pettigrew in his animagus form."

"The dementors mightn't have noticed him – especially with all the attention they were paying to the students walking to and from Hogsmeade. It is true that the aurors rely a little too much on them for my preference. But there are enchantments put on every window and entrance of the castle – even the secret passages – to ward against intruders."

"Even the owlery?" said Harry. He and his friends had come up with this idea after talking it over all throughout the dinner. It had not been Harry's favourite theory, because it meant that Hedwig had not been able to stop Wormtail, when Crookshanks had. But it had been the only theory that even Hermione had been unable to dismiss as impossible. "The owls are – kind of – like intruders, aren't they? At least the ones that don't belong to any of the students."

Dumbledore began to shake his head. "No, no. The owls are a special case. No other being can come through the owlery—" He stopped, frowned. "Unless he was _inside_ a parcel. Keeping the privacy of correspondence means that there are limits to the sorts of spells private post can be subjected to. Even so, it would've required very sophisticated warding—"

"If he's still working with Malfoy, that mightn't be so difficult," said Harry.

"Yes… Considering that the break-in was timed to coincide with the exact time I would be away, that is quite likely the case…" Dumbledore was regarding Harry in a much friendlier way than he had when Harry had first entered his office. "As always, conversations with you, Mr Potter, prove most enlightening."

Harry left soon after that. For the second time that day, he had to force his still wobbly knees not to give out under him, as he walked back to the Gryffindor tower.

~HP~

Hermione nearly panicked when Harry told her and Ron. The three of them talked for hours, until their fear slowly subsided and they finally agreed to wait things out.

The mirror call with Sirius that night was tense, as expected. Harry had to tell him everything the headmaster had figured out, on top of Pettigrew's break-in into Hogwarts, which Sirius did not know about. It immediately put him on alert – almost as much as the headmaster's investigation. Regarding Dumbledore, Sirius wanted Harry to save his own skin and put all blame for his involvement on Sirius, but Harry cut him off, recounting the Sorting Hat's interference. Sirius was surprised, relieved, but still cautious to hope. He advised Harry to wait and see what Dumbledore would do, to trust that the headmaster would keep his word and not take any drastic action without letting Harry know first.

Then Sirius had news of his own to share. "The aurors not even guarding the graveyard just didn't sit well with me. So I went back to check things out – Don't worry. I was very, very careful. And I was right." Sirius scowled. "There were enchantments put on the grave after all. No alarm – that's what I checked for in the morning. But rather something subtle, and possibly not due to the aurors. Now that you told me about Pettigrew getting into Hogwarts at virtually the same time, it all makes more sense. The enchantment was simple, but very well hidden, something that would've let someone know that I was there, in Godric's Hollow."

"Let me guess: something Pettigrew couldn't have done himself," said Harry. He was beginning to see a pattern, and not liking it one bit.

Sirius nodded. "Exactly. Someone went through a lot of effort to set it all up." He sighed. "At least we didn't apparate and leave them with actual proof that you were there. The aurors, Dumbledore and Pettigrew, together with whatever cronies he's found, were all on our trail. Just because we're being paranoid…"

Harry then proceeded to tell Sirius all he had found out about Pettigrew's break-in into Hogwarts. Sirius was far more bothered by the fact that Pettigrew had been inside Harry's dorm than the boy had anticipated, leading him to warn Harry of every eventuality he could think of, before they said goodnight.

The school talked of nothing but Pettigrew the next day. For once, he was the one talked about most, despite Sirius' run-in with the aurors having made it into the newspaper. Pettigrew had been much nearer to them, and wilder and wilder theories about how he had entered the castle began to circulate among the students.

Harry, Hermione and Ron had been on edge, but as the morning wore on, it became obvious that Dumbledore clearly had not told any of the staff about his suspicions. No one was reacting strangely to them.

However, they were in for another surprise that morning. Hermione spread her copy of the Daily Prophet in front of the boys during breakfast, blocking all the food on the table. She pointed to the lengthy article about Sirius and Pettigrew.

"Read this. A break-in in St Mungo's on early Friday morning!" she said. "And they think it might've been Pettigrew—"

"What? And we're only hearing about it now?" Ron even let go of the sausage on his fork, to take a closer look.

"I don't think there was an article about that before now." Hermione frowned. "I kept looking for everything written about him…"

Harry noticed a few faces of fellow Gryffindors looking their way curiously. He stared back until they looked away. "Never mind, Hermione," he said a little more quietly. "What are they saying now?"

It was not much. The mention of that break-in was only tacked on to the much larger story of the previous day's events. The article mostly said that the aurors were suspecting an animagus had done it. The author then went on to guess that it must have been Sirius, with or without Pettigrew's help. Harry was sure that they were a little off about the identity of the culprit, but he had to agree with Hermione that it was a very curious fact, worth keeping in mind.

Harry noticed a rather unpleasant effect of Pettigrew's break-in during the day. He was being closely watched by the teachers, who found excuses to walk along corridors with him. If that was not enough, McGonagall asked him to her office at the end of lunchtime, with such a sombre expression on her face that Harry began to fear Dumbledore might have told her something after all.

It turned out she had been considering taking him off the quidditch team, so he would not have to practice outside in the evenings. Apparently having Pettigrew inside Harry's dorm warranted such extreme measures. Harry had to valiantly refrain himself from pointing out that Pettigrew – as Wormtail – had lived in that dorm for Harry's entire first year at Hogwarts.

It took a little persuasion, but considering how much McGonagall wanted 'her' team to win, she finally agreed to let Harry carry on playing – provided Madam Hooch was supervising during every one of his practice sessions.

By the time Harry had finally managed to settle that issue, he realised that he was ten minutes late for defence against the dark arts. He ran all the way to the classroom, skidded to a halt outside the door, pulled it open and dashed inside with an apology to Professor Lupin—

Only to discover to his dismay that Snape was teaching the class, who promptly took ten points from Gryffindor because Harry was late to class, and ordered him to sit. Harry did not bother to explain about McGonagall's summons, resigned to the fact that Snape was as nasty as ever in class.

"Where's Professor Lupin?" he asked instead.

"He says he is feeling too ill to teach today," said Snape with a twisted smile. "I believe I told you to sit down?"

Harry walked slowly to his seat. As soon as he had sat down, he turned to Ron to discuss Lupin's absence. It was the second day after the full moon, after all, and Harry had not expected him to miss teaching their class.

"I reckon he tired himself out too much yesterday. He looked pretty bad at the Hallowe'en feast," said Ron.

Harry would have said more, but Snape interrupted them, docking another five points for talking in class.

Then Snape proceeded to dismiss everything Lupin had taught them. First, he claimed Lupin had not left any records of the topics they had covered – entirely possible, thought Harry, if Lupin had not expected Snape to substitute for him – and why would he have? Snape silenced Hermione as soon as she began to tell him the topics they had covered, instead claiming that Lupin's teaching was too easy in response to Dean Thomas' declaration that Lupin was the best teacher they had ever had. He looked more menacing than ever as he forced them to open their books to the very last chapter about werewolves.

Harry could not believe it. Even knowing that Snape hated the Marauders, this seemed a horrid thing to do. He was risking someone finding out that Lupin was a werewolf—

Snape was asking about how to distinguish real wolves from werewolves, ignoring Hermione's raised hand as usual. Parvati tried telling him yet again that they had not covered that topic yet, and therefore could not possibly know the answer—

" _Silence_!" snarled Snape. "Well, well, well, I never thought I'd meet a third-year class who wouldn't even recognize a werewolf when they saw one. I shall make a point of informing Professor Dumbledore how very behind you all are…"

Snape was actually trying to get them to figure it out, thought Harry. For months now, he and his friends had been making excuses for Snape's horrible behaviour, because he was a spy. But trying to ruin Lupin's teaching career had nothing to do with spying! Harry was so angry, he felt he needed to say something. Only, he did not want to draw more attention to the topic, did not want anyone else to notice that the topic of werewolves was making him react that way—

Then Hermione began to speak out of turn, answering Snape's question. This only made Snape take another five points from Gryffindor, while calling Hermione an 'insufferable know-it-all'. She went very red and looked down, close to tears.

Ron would not stand for it. "You asked us a question and she knows the answer! Why ask if you don't want to be told?" he said loudly.

This landed Ron with a detention.

No one made a sound throughout the rest of the lesson. They silently took notes on werewolves while Snape walked through the rows of desks and made disparaging comments about the work they had been doing with Professor Lupin. When the bell rang at last, Snape held them back, to give them homework – even though Harry knew Snape knew he would only be substituting for one lesson. It was to write an essay on how to recognise and _kill_ werewolves.

Harry and Hermione left the room with the rest of the class, while Ron stayed behind to arrange his detention. Harry was barely out of earshot when he began to rant about Snape. For once, Hermione did not try very hard to stop him, even going as far as to say that she hoped Lupin would be better soon.

Ron caught up with them five minutes later. They could tell he was being weird. Harry would have expected him to be in a towering rage. Instead, he looked sheepish.

"He wanted to make me clean out the bedpans in the hospital wing without magic," Ron told them. "I thought, of course, he's doing it so I'll notice that Lupin's not there. And I got really mad. I mean, cleaning out the bedpans! And without magic! And I blurted it out."

"Blurted _what_ out?"

Ron grimaced. "Well, that he was only doing that so I'd notice that Lupin's not there—"

"But, didn't he guess—"

"That I – we – know that Lupin's a werewolf? Uh, yeah, kinda."

Hermione and Harry exchanged disquieted looks.

"What? But, but—"

"That's not all," Ron added hastily, before Hermione could begin berating him. "Uh, I may have said we didn't think it was a big deal, and he, er," Ron took a deep breath. "He began ranting about Gryffindors being too stupid to know what danger is. He started accusing Lupin of all sorts of things, even helping Pettigrew break into the castle yesterday. But then he also said it was a big deal for _him_ , because he's forced to brew Wolfsbane – which takes a lot of time and effort. And, well, I volunteered to help – as part of my detention. Sort of. But, maybe, I volunteered you two to help as well."

Ron grimaced and ducked away from his friends' shocked stares. He attempted a sickly sort of grin. "Oh, and I finally found a word – or maybe two," he added sheepishly.


	14. Chapter 14

Dudley walked past the small common room, looked inside, but did not enter. He caught a glimpse of a number of younger boys sat in front of the telly, watching _Adventures of Sonic the Hedgehog_. Dudley knew the video game very well, but felt he was far too grown up to watch the show. For a moment he considered going in, just to see if he and Harry could use it in their secret code. Harry had heard him describe the game often enough to recognise the characters. Harry himself would be Sonic, of course, and Tails would be Ron—

Dudley saw Piers round the corner together with another classmate of theirs and turned to walk in the opposite direction.

He decided he would find Artie instead. Another boy from his computer club had suggested a computer game that Artie was planning to try out. Dudley could join him. It was apparently a puzzle game, and not an easy one. It was not Dudley's usual preference, but perhaps it would prove diverting enough to distract him from thinking about Harry's last letter.

Harry had used _Scooby-Doo_ characters for the coded message, which was a bit awkward, because it had one too many characters. Harry and Sirius had been easy to identify as Shaggy and Scooby. They had had a run-in with the magical police, it seemed. Dudley had re-read that part of the message repeatedly, but there was of course very little detail given.

Ron and Hermione had been more tricky to identify as Fred and Velma, because Daphne had also made an appearance in the letter. Dudley was not entirely sure, but he suspected she was supposed to be Ron's sister – based mostly on the ginger hair. That meant then that Ron and Hermione had also crossed paths with the magical police, which would mean that Ron's sister had had a run-in with the rat – Pettigrew…

He had his own letter to Harry to finish before Hedwig arrived in the (very) early morning. The previous letter had been written in black ink, thankfully, but there was no knowing these days. One of Harry's coded messages repeated every few letters was his concern for Hedwig, and what all the surveillance spells might be doing to her. She did not seem unwell in any way, as far as Dudley could tell, but he was keeping a close eye on her, reporting his observations to Harry—

"Hey, Dudley, wait up."

Dragged away from his thoughts, Dudley realised the footsteps had been following him for a little while. He turned and saw Piers, now without their classmate, walking towards him.

"Are you going back to our dorm?" asked Piers, instead of telling Dudley what he wanted.

"No, I…" Dudley decided on a simple explanation. "I was thinking of watching the telly."

Piers snorted a laugh. "What, with them?" He pointed towards the common room a little distance away from them, filled with the first-year boys. It was only at Dudley's frown that he tried to school his face into something less mocking.

Dudley sighed. "No, not with them." He refrained from rolling his eyes. He and Piers had watched the similar enough shows as little as a year ago, and now the other boy thought it was something to be mocked. But Dudley did not bother to explain his thoughts. "I was just thinking about it."

"Well… we could try another common room. Maybe someone's watching something sensible—"

Dudley raised his eyebrows. "You… want to watch the telly with me?" He was beginning to get impatient with Piers. Again.

Ever since Piers had talked to Dudley's mother in the summer, the boys had virtually stopped speaking to each other. No easy feat, considering they shared a dorm room. Dudley and Artie never spoke of anything but trivial matters when Piers was around, and never discussed Harry with him.

Piers had realised why Dudley had suddenly begun avoiding him again in the summer, after slowly improving their broken friendship up until Aunt Marge's visit, helped along by their parents. He had confronted Dudley, had tried to downplay what he had said. It was true that he had not fully understood what he had done, Dudley could admit that now.

Piers shifted, made an attempt at a casual shrug. "Or we could just hang out."

"I… I'm going to meet with Artie in a bit." Not a lie, but an excuse.

Piers' face went to disappointed and then to angry all of a sudden. "What got into you! All high and mighty, defending your friends, defending your cousin—"

Well, if he was done avoiding the real issue, then Dudley would oblige. "Do you have any idea what you did?" he all but shouted back.

Piers looked taken aback. The guilt he felt was once again written on his face, as it had in the summer, when Dudley had first seen him after Harry had left. Despite this, Piers had not apologised back then, but had instead tried to pretend nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

"What?" Piers said with affected unconcern. "Are you still mad about whatever happened with your cousin this summer?"

"Not whatever happened – What you said!"

"To your mum? Well, big deal! Like it's a secret that you hang out with that weird Potter—" He fell silent at how menacing Dudley's face had turned.

"So. You're still pretending you had no idea what you were doing, are you?" Dudley drew back, felling like there was no point in bothering to talk to Piers at all.

Piers must have noticed the change in him. He had the good sense not to say something to prove Dudley right. "No," he said quietly. "I get that – that you get along with him, but your parents – don't. And maybe I might've guessed that," he almost mumbled that last part. The apologetic tone could not last long. When he went on, he was brash, defiant. "But so what? I know you and – and Artie still talk about him, about his school, or whatever. So it's not like your parents kicked him out, or sent him to prison, or anything!"

"You don't get it! You don't know anything!"

"Of course I don't! It's not like you're willing to tell me!" Piers shouted back.

Dudley hesitated, thinking this over. When talking to Artie, Dudley was now no longer as careful about mentioning Harry in front of Piers. In fact, he and Artie were now the friends in their dorm, with Piers the outsider, who was made to feel like an intruder more and more often. Dudley still thought of Piers as the bully, and himself as the protector of those bys they both used to bully. But if Dudley used to be the same, did he have the moral high ground? Moreover, if he had managed to change, then why not Piers?

Haltingly, hesitantly, he agreed to explain, to talk things out.

~HP~

Lupin was back the next day, still looking unwell, but everyone was relieved when he immediately told them not to bother with the homework Snape had set. Harry, Ron and Hermione were also beginning to feel relieved, but for a different reason. Lupin was the last of their teachers who did not seem to be treating them any differently than before, adding weight to their assumption that Dumbledore was keeping his word. Also, it looked like Lupin had not heard that they knew of his condition.

Hermione had berated Ron for reacting in such a thoughtless manner, mentioning to Snape that they knew Lupin was a werewolf, even though she had been the one who had been the most panicked after Harry had told his friends of his talk with Dumbledore.

Slowly, bit by bit, their worry abated, making room for them to think about other parts of their lives. Ron had finally found words for his animagus spell. The first one was straight-forward. It was 'chivalry'. The second word Ron knew had something to do with working on opposing sides to get them to come to an agreement. He tried several words that meant something similar and they all had reasonably high numerological values.

Hermione was perhaps not as eager to keep going through the dictionary and trying to find the best fit as Ron would have liked. She was much more intent on the next step. The actual transfiguration. It soon became obvious that she had been itching to try a partial transformation, but had held herself back, so as to avoid making Ron feel left behind.

She almost came to regret that. They were all a lot more hesitant about meeting up with Sirius – especially Sirius himself. Without him around, however, he did not want the teenagers to try the partial transfigurations.

"We're talking about one of the most difficult types of transfiguration – that of human to animal," he told them. "Even partial human transfiguration is NEWT level stuff. And of course the animagus transformation isn't taught at school at all." Seeing their disappointed, obstinate faces, Sirius relented somewhat. "Of course, that's partly because of the risk, and not just because of the difficulty. Still. The risk is well worth keeping in mind, especially with something you're supposed to keep secret. Going with that sort of accident to the school matron would raise some questions."

"But you said we could do it!" said Hermione, voice rising, looking combative. "So what have we been doing all this time then—"

Sirius raised his hand – the one not holding the mirror – in a conciliatory manner. "And you'll be able to do it – if you're careful and a little patient. Prongs – er, James was the first of us to try the partial transformations at the end of our third year. He was also the first of us to successfully complete the transfiguration at the end of our fourth year. But – and I don't say this to be discouraging – he was exceptionally gifted at transfiguration. It took me several more months. And he was around to help when I – and even more often Pettigrew – had accidents.

"Hermione, you're the most skilled of the three of you, meaning there would be no one to help you if something went wrong. I'd hoped to meet up again, of course, for exactly that reason, but now…"

This was quite likely the first time someone had told Hermione that her academic skills were not quite adequate. It did not matter that the skill in question was supposed to be very advanced. She spent every free minute she had reading transfiguration books, and making the boys do the same.

They had already been doing their best to learn transfiguration, so much so that McGonagall had begun leaving positive comments on Harry's and even Ron's homework. But for the first time Hermione deemed it acceptable for the boys to neglect some of their other homework – in divination, for example – in order to have more time for transfiguration. She was determined she would become an animagus – even without Sirius' presence.

Harry, meanwhile, had quidditch to occupy his thoughts. The weather got steadily worse as the week progressed, leading up to the quidditch match between Gryffindor and Slytherin on Saturday. The training got progressively more unpleasant. Worse, only a couple days before the match, Harry found out that they would be playing Hufflepuff instead of Slytherin, because Malfoy was still pretending to have a hurt arm. Instead of Malfoy, he would be against Cedric Diggory, captain and seeker of the Hufflepuffs, who was older and bigger, and potentially not as likely to be blown off-course by the strong wind.

It was an unpleasant day – beginning with Peeves waking him in the small hours by blowing hard in his ear – and getting worse as the thunderstorm greeted him as he walked to the quidditch pitch. The wind was so strong that Harry staggered sideways, walking from the changing rooms. Then there was the rain. The captains greeted each other – Diggory even attempted to smile – and they were up in the air. Within a few minutes, Harry was soaked to the skin and freezing. He could barely see the bludgers or Diggory, much less the snitch.

He should not have tried it, thought Harry. He had been disappointed that the animagus spell had not reacted when he had cast it during flying, even though he was a natural at it, even though he loved it. So trying again during an actual quidditch match had seemed a good idea. But he should have left it to the next match, seeing what the weather was like.

The problem was that the spell had done something. He was in the trance – on top of the cold numbing him and the rain making it almost impossible for him to see. Yet, his new word would not come…

Oliver called a time-out, Harry was vaguely aware. He even managed to ask after the score – they were winning by fifty points, apparently. Hermione was there suddenly, casting a spell – Impervious – on his glasses. Then they were back in the air.

The sudden clarity of sight was overwhelming. Everything was in sharp focus, beckoning his trance-addled brain to look for something – the snitch, surely. Harry was only vaguely aware of Diggory flying past his head, a bludger whizzing past his ear, the thunder and lightning in the sky…

Oliver had to shout at him to alert him that the snitch was behind him. Harry floated in the air, watching Diggory pelt up the field, and a part of him knew he was supposed to chase after him –after the snitch they were both supposed to catch. He made the attempt, though his eyes were refusing to focus on the tiny speck of gold shimmering in the rain-filled air between them…

Even before he felt them, his eyes were drawn to the ground. At least a hundred dementors were approaching, all of them assembling on the spot directly under him. An eerie silence fell. The storm was still there, but Harry no longer heard it. The cold and dark seemed to intensify. He slowed as the thoughts came, colder and darker still.

"Stand aside, you silly girl…stand aside, now…"

"Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead—"

As the shrill, loud laughter of that memory filled his mind, he became conscious of what it was he was hearing. He knew then that he would not be able to get away from them. He refused to be drowned by fear – he would face them with his eyes wide open. His final thought was of flying.

Flying, indeed. Towards death.

~HP~

Harry came to in the hospital wing, to the frightened faces of Ron and Hermione and the rest of the Gryffindor quidditch team – minus Oliver Wood, who had stayed in the shower in his grief. There was bad news to be had. They had lost the match, though only by a hundred points. Their chances of winning the Quidditch Cup were not entirely gone.

Once the quidditch players had left, Hermione and Ron filled Harry in on what had happened while he was passed out. Dumbledore had slowed his fall, scattered the dementors and then taken him to the hospital wing. Harry's broom had been blown into the Whomping Willow and destroyed.

It was more than enough to explain Harry's lack of cheer. His friends stayed with him almost until curfew, aware that he was in need of cheering up, though not quite correct about the reason why.

Yes, losing a quidditch match for the first time was a heavy blow. Losing his broom was even worse. It felt almost like Harry had lost a friend. The fact that the dementors had such a devastating influence on him, and had once again been close enough to prove it, was also difficult to bear in mind.

None of that was at the forefront of Harry's mind, though. None of it was enough to distract him for long enough from the memory the dementors had brought to the surface, or what the animagus trance had unearthed. Had it been that long ago that he had foolishly claimed he could be honest with himself? That he would be able to handle it?

Harry did the arithmantic calculation that night, still kept in the hospital wing by Madam Pomfrey. It took a bit of manoeuvring, he had to convince Hermione to bring him his notes – he did not know it from memory. Then he had to wait for Madam Pomfrey to go to sleep. But he wanted to make sure he would be unobserved, away from even his closest friends.

First he tried the one he had so recklessly chased after: 'Flying'. 'I fly'. The calculation was done easily enough. There it was. He had been right to think it would be one of his words. A little obvious, a little underwhelming.

He sat there, on the hospital bed, his notes spread out in front of him, unable to stop and unwilling carry on. He had not looked away, came the disquieting memory. When he had finally recognised his mother's voice, pleading with Voldemort not to kill him, moments before Voldemort had murdered her, the actual danger of the dementors below him had merged with the danger of Voldemort – within the memory, about to attempt to kill him, but also still very much ongoing, because of the prophecy. And yet, he had not tried to flee uselessly. There had been a very strong conviction in him, brought along by the trance, that he would keep on flying on his set course.

He would not hide, would not run now either. He would face the truth about himself the spell had unearthed. Besides, his mind was so full, he would hardly be able to fall asleep if he did not do this now. It had to be done. Putting it off would only make him have to go through the same agonising mental preparation the following night – after having to wait all day.

He did not know how long it took, but finally, he drew the parchment closer again, and began a new calculation. It went surprisingly fast, reaching the inevitable result. 'Death'. Harry stared at the word, his mind blank – the calm following the storm. Once again, he did not know how long it took until he swept everything into his bag and lay down. He thought he would be unable to sleep, his mind blank but fully awake, alert. He was asleep before he had finished thinking that.

~HP~

Harry had to stay in the hospital wing on Sunday. He waited impatiently for his friends to visit him. His mind was still filled with the fragments of disquieting dreams, where the memories of the clammy, rotten hands of the dementors merged with his mother's petrified pleading.

He had a lot of visitors, intent on cheering him up. Hagrid sent him a bunch of earwiggy flowers that looked like yellow cabbages, and Ginny Weasley, blushing furiously, turned up with a get-well card she had made herself, which sang shrilly unless Harry kept it shut under his bowl of fruit. The Gryffindor team visited him again, and Wood told him (in a hollow voice) that he did not blame him.

As soon as Ron and Hermione were his only remaining company, he asked them how Sirius had taken the news – having asked his friends to call his godfather in his stead the day before, while he was stuck in the hospital wing.

"The thing is… it wasn't really news to him," said Ron.

He and Hermione exchanged a troubled, serious look, much to Harry's surprise.

"That's why there were all those dementors," said Hermione in a quaking voice. "Snuffles saw Wormtail on his map. So he came to investigate. He was still in the Forbidden Forest when Wormtail disappeared from the map – inside a toilet again, Harry—"

"Like last year," said Ron. "He really must be travelling through the a _ctual_ sewer system." He looked so grossed out, he was likely remembering that Wormtail used to be his pet. "Snuffles figured it out, too. He guessed that Wormtail must've swam across the lake – and he was right!"

"What? The sewage flows into the lake?" asked Harry. He ought to focus on more important things, but—

"Not… exactly," said Hermione. "It – kind of – flows _under_ the lake. It's not explained in detail in _Hogwarts, a History,_ it only says that it wouldn't work without magic, but—"

"Alright, so what about Wormtail, then?" Harry did not want her getting distracted.

"Snuffles cast the untransfiguration spell across the lake, and there he was—"

"Wait, he got close enough to the school to do that?" Harry had raised his voice, he noticed. He looked around, to make sure Madam Pomfrey was not close by.

Hermione nodded. "He was by the train station, which isn't as regularly patrolled by the dementors. It's deserted usually, and they don't like that much. Snuffles says they're much fonder of the path to Hogsmeade. But when Snuffles transformed back into a human and then transfigured Wormtail as well, they noticed soon enough. Don't worry, Harry. Snuffles was close to the edge of the anti-apparition wards and managed to get away."

"But so did Wormtail. He fled to the opposite edge of the lake – closest to the quidditch pitch. The dementors were after him at first, but I guess he – as a rat – wasn't as, er, _interesting_ to them as you were," said Ron.

"Snuffles didn't go far. He wanted to keep an eye on what'd happen to Wormtail. He… saw you fall, Harry," Hermione said meaningfully. "And then he had to wait for hours before we called him…"

Harry nodded in understanding. Sirius must have still been upset when talking to her and Ron, he realised.

"We did our best to convince him you're alright, but he wants to talk to you as soon as you get out of here," said Ron.

Harry had to wait for that until late that evening, when Madam Pomfrey finally let him leave. Instead of handing the mirror over, Hermione and Ron followed Harry out of the common room to talk to Sirius as well. After thinking things over, Hermione had decided that if Sirius could take such risks, then so could they. Ron had tempted her into wanting to meet up to begin learning the animagus transfiguration.

For a moment, it seemed like Sirius would disagree, but then he sighed harshly. "You'll hardly be in more danger around me, with how easily Pettigrew's managed to infiltrate Hogwarts again. And at least you'd be that much closer to managing the animagus transfiguration – and what little safety that can give you against the dementors."

He held Harry's gaze for a moment, his own eyes shadowed and bloodshot. "You need to learn a way to protect yourself against the dementors, Harry," he said at last. "The animagus transformation is useful, but there are other options – like the Patronus charm. Unfortunately, that's really not something I could teach you remotely, through a mirror." He thought it over for a moment, before coming to a resolve. "Talk to Moony. He's teaching you tomorrow, isn't he? Ask him to teach you the Patronus charm. It may be difficult, but at least it's easier than the animagus transformation. It's still on the school syllabus. Besides, it's really very effective."

Harry agreed to try.

It was a relief to return to the flurry of school activity the next morning, to be distracted away from their worries. There was Malfoy though, beside himself with glee, having finally taken off his bandages now that they had served their purpose. He did impressions of Harry falling off his broom all through potions, until Ron finally cracked and threw a crocodile heart at his face.

Snape took fifty points from Gryffindor, and then told Ron to see him that evening for his first detention, among the jeers of the Slytherins.

At least the defence lesson was very enjoyable. Lupin was entirely recovered from the full moon and had brought along a glass box, containing a hinkypunk. Harry was once again fully engaged in the lesson and almost forgot his promise to Sirius to talk to Lupin, but at the end of the class it was his teacher himself who asked him to stay behind.

Lupin wanted to secretly apologise for the Whomping Willow breaking his Nimbus 2000, Harry realised. Lupin told him that the tree had been planted in his first year at school, though of course he did not explain the reason for it. Harry knew, though, that it concealed the passage to the Shrieking Shack, and he was once again forced to keep a poker face as the realisation hit him while Lupin recalled with obvious guilt how the tree had almost lost a boy from his school days an eye.

"Did you hear about the dementors too?" said Harry, remembering Sirius' instructions.

Lupin had, and tried his best to reassure Harry that it was not a sign of weakness that they affected him.

"When they get near me—" Harry stared at Lupin's desk, his throat tight. "I can hear Voldemort murdering my mum."

He had not told Sirius about that the night before, not after seeing how badly his godfather was taking his own involvement in the dementors' attack on Harry. He had yet to tell Ron and Hermione, even.

Lupin made an aborted gesture, as if to grip Harry's shoulder, and Harry suddenly became fully conscious of the fact that he was talking to his dad's other best friend. His parents' friend.

"The dementors keep coming after me, because I'm easy prey," Harry said after a pause. "They don't much care if you're guilty or not, do they? They'll come after whoever's easiest to prey on," he went on bitterly, thinking of Pettigrew and how they had let him get away.

"You're right." Lupin shut his briefcase with a snap. "They're never too keen on letting the prisoners go from Azkaban, even after they've served their sentence. Nor do they care if those prisoners are guilty or not. As long as they have a couple hundred humans to feed on… And yet, Black managed to get away from them…"

For once, Harry had not been steering the conversation to Sirius. Lupin himself had brought up the question of the prisoners' guilt— "Azkaban sounds like an awful place. Have you ever been there?"

"No." Lupin regarded him with some surprise.

"I just meant, because you used to be friends with my parents and Sirius Black. I thought maybe you visited him there, to ask him why—"

Lupin's briefcase slipped from the desk; he had to stoop quickly to catch it.

"No," he said, straightening up, "I never went to question Black. I never wanted to know _why_ he'd done what he—" He broke off. "Anyway, even the dementors couldn't break down his defences, and that's supposed to be impossible. They're supposed to drain any human of all their powers if left with them for too long. I'd hardly have managed to get any useful answers out of him."

" _You_ made that dementor on the train back off," said Harry suddenly, seizing the opportunity to bring up the Patronus lessons.

It worked. Lupin was easy to convince to teach him the Patronus charm. He did put it off until the next term, however, saying that he had too much to do before the holidays.

Harry was reasonably content with his efforts when he rejoined his friends and recounted his conversation with Lupin back to them. He told them everything, including the memory the dementors had made him relive. With an, "Oh, Harry," Hermione threw her arms around him, and Ron clapped him on his shoulder, his face showing the compassion he would not put into words.

Harry still did not say what new words the animagus spell had led him to discover.

They waited in the common room for the evening, when Ron would be having his first official detention with Snape. After talking it over, they had agreed that Snape probably meant Harry and Hermione to go along as well, to start working on the Wolfsbane potion. Ron received a number of sympathetic words from their classmates that evening, knowing what awaited him. Or at least that was what they thought. In fact, even Ron, Hermione and Harry did not know what to expect.

Harry and Hermione left the common room before Ron, so it would not be obvious that they had left and returned together, when only Ron was supposed to be having a detention. They met up on the way and arrived together at Snape's office. Ron knocked. The door was pulled open at once by the surly potions master, glaring down his large nose at them.

Harry began a disjointed explanation of his and Hermione's presence there. "Er, we, er, weren't sure if this was meant to be an actual detention, or if we're supposed to help with the Wolfsbane—"

"Come in," Snape told them curtly and stepped away from the doorway. He closed the door behind them as soon as they were inside, then led them through the connecting door to the potions classroom. He had already set up a number of potions ingredients there in preparation. There was however no cauldron to be seen.

"So what are we doing first, then?" said Hermione, walking over to take a closer look at the ingredients lined up on one of the tables.

"First, Weasley will tell me what possessed him to throw a crocodile heart across the potions classroom – and at a fellow student," said Snape.

Harry was not sure what exactly he had been expecting, but Snape being exactly the same as he was in his lessons was not it. In fact, he had been hoping for something quite different.

Ron must have been thinking along the same lines. "Malfoy was being outrageous – as usual! And I get that you have to take his side, but really, fifty points!"

"You think I took points because I'm – deliberately trying to be – unfair?" Snape's voice was quiet, but with an unmistakeable undercurrent of menace. "You don't think your actions deserved that punishment?"

Ron scowled. "Fine. I assaulted a fellow student," he ground out. He set his jaw at the unmoved face of the potions master. "And I wasted a valuable potions ingredient." He stopped. It was clear, he thought he had said enough.

"It, maybe, was a safety hazard," Hermione said very quietly, and grimaced when Ron stared at her.

"Go on, Granger," drawled Snape.

"The calming draught we were brewing," she went on haltingly. "It uses hearts of animals that can have a very slow heart rate. But if you add too much, the potion could slow a human's heart below what we can handle—"

This was not an unusual explanation. A great many of the potions they brewed came with dire warnings about safety hazards, about simple substitutions and wrong dosages turning them into poisons or other hazardous substances.

"Now imagine that potion being splashed at various students – Slytherin students to be precise—"

"It went nowhere near Malfoy's cauldron!" came Ron's mutinous reply.

"But we do know to take safety precautions – for the Wolfsbane potion," Hermione quickly interjected, before Snape's ire had been let loose on them.

"Do you now?" Snape sneered at them. "I wonder. Do you have any idea what sorts of dangerous ingredients you'd need to handle? Or the danger you'd be putting this entire school in if the potion does not turn out _exactly_ as intended?"

Harry felt his own ire rise, not liking the way Snape talked about Lupin, though he was not sure why. A werewolf without the Wolfsbane potion was indeed dangerous. He knew, though, not to let himself be provoked. "We know how important this is," he said, keeping his voice level. "We'll be more careful – just as we did with the Polyjuice."

Snape's dark eyes assessed them for a long moment, until they began to squirm. Then his lip curled almost imperceptibly. "By all means. You can help, if you feel that that's a valuable use of your time."

Harry bristled again, muttering, "It is," under his breath.

Snape did not react to that as he walked over to his own desk at the front of the classroom, producing three long parchments that he handed to them. They were instructions to the most complex potion Harry had ever come across.

"We'll be preparing the ingredients for the first few days," Snape went on in what Harry recognised as his lecturing mode. "The brewing process itself takes almost three weeks and consists of three parts. The first uses advanced techniques in an unconventional way. It hold a few surprises, even for the seasoned potioneer. The second part is the shortest, and while by no means easy, it is somewhat more conventional. The final part is—" He paused, considering. "Interesting," he settled on saying, almost grudgingly. "You won't be helping with that part."

Hermione had already taken her place behind the desk, and the boys joined her. She was looking down the _long_ list of ingredients – everything from the common aconite to things Harry had never even heard of.

Hermione muttered something along those lines, sounding awed.

"Well, we do know sugar isn't one of the ingredients. Makes the potion ineffective, apparently," Harry muttered back. He was not sure how he felt, brewing something that Lupin clearly could not stand the taste of, but was forced to drink anyway. It was supposed to help him, of course—

"Sugar?" Snape sounded repulsed by the very thought. "The potion turns ineffective if you so much as get the temperature wrong, much less adding a random ingredient. It is the most delicate balance of volatile, contradictory elements – designed to force a most unnatural state—"

"Yes, we get it," said Harry.

He was beginning to get fed up with the underhanded comments about Lupin. He had wanted to help, to give Snape less reason to complain about Lupin, but also to be in a situation where he could trust Snape to voice his actual thoughts, unhampered by the constraints of being a spy. But Harry would not stand to listen to hours of Snape saying awful things about Lupin – if that was his actual opinion after all.

"Do you? Was it Lupin himself, complaining about the taste of the potion, _contemplating_ adding sugar to make it more palatable for himself—"

"No, he wasn't! He just needed to explain to me why he had to drink something that made him grimace!"

Snape did not respond to Harry's raised, aggressive voice. Instead, he regarded him and his friends curiously. There was a hint of a disturbing smile on his face. "So. You three are willing to put in all this work to help Lupin with his _condition_. But he doesn't even know you're aware of his lycantrophy."

"It's his choice to tell us or not to tell us," said Hermione. Her voice was quiet, but firm. A clear opposition, containing a not-so-subtle criticism of Snape's attempt to get Harry's class to figure out Lupin's condition.

"Is it? And yet, you three already know. _You're_ not unaware of the potential danger he poses, unlike the other students—"

Harry had had enough. "He's not a danger. That's what this potion is for, isn't it? He's not callous about taking it, about putting anyone in danger. If he keeps his condition a secret, it's because of everyone's prejudices—"

"You barely know him," Snape cut across him. "Such a high opinion you have of him. Based on what? Him being your father's old friend?"

Harry shrugged. "I've heard nice things about him," he repeated almost the same thing he had told Lupin himself.

"So are we preparing the ingredients or not?" said Ron, effectively ending the discussion.

Snape did let go of his criticism of Lupin after that, instead focussing on the work they had to do. He set them clear instructions – clear to Hermione at least. But he did not complain about her explaining things in more detail to the boys. They worked for the better part of an hour, until Snape dismissed them. At the end of that hour, they discussed future meeting times. Snape actually took Harry's quidditch schedule into account, as well as their need to do homework. They agreed to two meetings a week, Monday and Friday evenings, for the time being.

Once they had left, Harry and Hermione hung back, to make sure they would arrive in the common room later than Ron. Harry contemplated the time spent helping Snape as they meandered, and had to come to the startling conclusion that it had not been so bad after all.


	15. Chapter 15

Sirius was still in a mood when Harry called him on Monday night. The first thing he said, reluctantly, was that Dumbledore had to be informed of Pettigrew getting into Hogwarts again, as well as the method he was using, travelling through the sewer system. Harry was somewhat reluctant, but for once, Hermione was in full agreement with Sirius. The boys finally agreed as well.

Sirius was none too happy to hear that Lupin had put off teaching Harry until next term. "That does it. We're definitely meeting up, and soon."

"But what about the Trace?" asked Hermione.

Sirius sighed. "I'm afraid we'll have to go to my parents' house for just that reason. I'd rather have spared you that dreary place, but I know for certain that it's warded against the Trace."

Hermione nodded. Instead of arguing, trying to find reasons why it was a bad idea, she said, "But this time, we're planning to use the time-turner from the beginning."

This was gladly agreed on. Altogether, they all wanted to make sure their next meet-up would be planned meticulously. For that reason, they set a tentative date towards the end of November, which would give them about a fortnight of preparation time.

Early the next morning, Harry went to the owlery with the difficult mission of sending a letter to Dumbledore. He considered using a school owl, then decided not to upset Hedwig. She was suffering enough this term, being forced to endure all sorts of surveillance spells from unknown sources. Harry had warned her not to try to oppose her assailants, and she seemed to be holding up alright, but he still worried about her. In fact, he was considering Dudley's advice to have someone check her over – possibly Hagrid. In the meantime, Harry decided not to take away from her the opportunity to deliver a letter without any risk of assault – she should be quite safe within Hogwarts grounds.

There was no immediate response from the headmaster that day, but at lunch, noticing their curious stares his way, Dumbledore nodded to them from the high table. They decided that probably meant he had received Harry's message.

The weather did not improve as the week went on. The persistent rain had an unnatural feel to it, making Hermione suggest that it might be due to the dementors' rage, having failed to capture Pettigrew twice in one week. Ron argued that the dementors were more likely mad because Dumbledore was keeping them away from the school's inhabitants.

The weather, together with their recent loss, meant that quidditch practice had slowed somewhat. This Harry did not mind, because it left him more time for his other projects, including the Wolfsbane potion.

When Friday came around, he felt there could have been better starts to the weekend than spending an hour in Snape's presence. With the pretext of visiting the library, he followed Ron and Hermione out of the common room and to the dungeons. They had to avoid the Slytherin students as best they could, using the Marauders' Map. They were only partially successful, and received a number of odd looks from older Slytherins.

"Maybe we should use your invisibility cloak next time," Ron told Harry.

"And the time-turner," said Harry.

Hermione immediately scowled, but did not actually argue. They really did stand out in the dungeons.

Snape let them in just as brusquely as the previous time, but did not seem as inclined to discuss Lupin with them. He quickly showed them the fresh batch of Wolfsbane potion he had already begun brewing, but told them that they would be preparing the less volatile ingredients mostly by themselves that day. He had a stack of parchments spread out on his desk in the potions classroom, and after leaving them with some instructions, he sat behind his desk, and began correcting the parchments. Harry tried not to wonder whose homework he was marking – and whether or not it might be his year's – while he began to peel the gurdyroots.

The hour was almost up, and Harry had amassed a large amount of extra finely minced gurdyroot, when there was a noise which must have come from Snape's office. Through the sheen of tears, he saw Ron and Hermione looking at him. Then they all looked at the scowling face of their teacher. Before any of them could do much, there were footsteps approaching the potions classroom. Snape got up, turned towards the door he had closed behind them—

The door was opened and in walked Dumbledore. "Severus, sorry to interrupt, but I need to borrow your, ah, assistants if you don't mind."

Harry carefully removed his glasses and wiped his eyes with his sleeve, careful not to get any more of the gurdyroot vapour into his eyes. He put his glasses back on. Now that he could see properly, he noticed that Snape looked as surprised as he felt, while Dumbledore was regarding their surprised faces with a serene smile.

Snape schooled his features into something more neutral. "Oh? Did you have any urgent business with them?" he asked.

Dumbledore walked into the room, his gaze sweeping their workstations with interest. His eyes came to rest on the small mountain of minced gurdyroots in front of Harry. "Oh, not particularly urgent, but it looks to me like you've accomplished most of today's work, isn't that so?" He was clearly refusing to satisfy Snape's blatant curiosity. His beard twitched. "By the way, Severus, I didn't think the gurdyroots needed to be minced quite this finely for the Wolfsbane potion."

"It certainly won't hurt," said Snape, unrepentant. He regarded Dumbledore shrewdly. "Would you like to use my office?"

Dumbledore nodded. "If that's not too inconvenient."

"There's something you don't want to be seen discussing with them, I take it? Actually, I'd like to mention something like that before they leave," Snape said. "It'll be much too suspicious if you three keep turning up here regularly without any pretext. But perhaps you could – create – the pretext. I'm sure you can think of ways to give me reason to give one – or all – of you detention—"

This was followed by loud protests.

Dumbledore's beard twitched again as he held up his hands. "Perhaps another possibility will suggest itself, Severus," he said.

Dumbledore then led the three friends through to the office, leaving Snape to correcting his students' work. His dark eyes followed them until the door closed, not hiding his displeasure at being kept out of the loop very well.

Dumbledore motioned for them to stay silent until he had cast protective enchantments – not hiding from them what he was doing, emphasizing the need for secrecy. Harry was immediately on alert, wondering at the reason for the headmaster to have orchestrated a private meeting with them. He cut across Hermione, who began asking the headmaster if she should have used the time-turner after all for their meeting with Snape. Harry frowned at his friend, almost telling her to get her priorities straight, but instead chose to ask Dumbledore if something was amiss.

Dumbledore did not rush to answer, instead first conjuring some armchairs for all of them, before lighting a fire. Snape's office was notoriously unwelcoming. "Nothing has happened with regards to a certain misunderstood grim – at least as far as I know," he finally said. "However, there are certain developments that I'd like to discuss with you."

Even though Harry was impatient for him to come to the point, Dumbledore first addressed Hermione's concern regarding the time-turner. Apparently, Snape did not even know they had access to one, and Dumbledore told them to keep it that way.

"The reason Professor Snape seemed so interested in what I'm about to discuss with you," Dumbledore went on. "He may be thinking that I'm about to discuss something regarding Professor Lupin with you. I was forced to tell him you knew of Professor Lupin's lycantrophy from me, so he wouldn't look further for another source." Dumbledore's face had suddenly turned serious. "It is not a good time to leave such trails leading to Sirius Black." He raised his eyebrows. "Nor for him to come close enough to the school to attract the dementors' attention – however well-intentioned his attempt to stop Pettigrew might have been."

The three friends needed a moment to recover from the surprise. Harry had been expecting some sort of questioning, but instead Dumbledore was admonishing them for not being secretive enough. Irrelevantly, Harry wondered how much worse Snape would have taken it, if he knew they were about to discuss the other Marauders – Sirius and Pettigrew – instead. In his own office, none the less.

Ron, sounding chastised, began a disjointed explanation of how that reveal had happened.

Harry cut across him. "So, does that mean you believe that he's innocent?" His voice was halting, still disbelieving. It would be a huge step in their favour, he knew, if they had Dumbledore on their side—

Dumbledore first turned to Ron, brought up his hands in a conciliatory manner. "I understand your heartfelt wish to help Professor Lupin. In fact, I commend you for it. However, the situation with Mr Black is unfortunately very volatile at the moment, and I'm afraid, once I started looking, I began seeing a great many trails leading from you three to him.

"I'm beginning to lean towards believing him to be innocent," he said after a pause. Before a sense of relief had washed over his listeners, Dumbledore brought up his hands again, this time in a gesture of caution. "I'm not fully convinced – yet—"

Harry, Hermione and Ron had discussed this after Harry's summons to the headmaster's office on Hallowe'en. They had thought about a fair number of arguments they could make in the days since. They began to say that Pettigrew had framed Sirius.

"Please let me explain," Dumbledore interrupted them. "When I say that I'm not fully convinced yet, I don't mean that I'm dismissing your judgement. For the three of you to still be such staunch supporters of Mr Black's innocence, he must have provided you with a convincing account of events, which must have withstood every detail you might have since heard about the events twelve years ago—"

"It's not just that," said Harry. "It's also all the things he's said and done since then." He drew a deep breath. Time to put all their cards on the table. "We've been in contact with him pretty much ever since he got out of Azkaban."

Hermione made a high-pitched, cut-off noise, but did not contradict him.

"I'm aware," said Dumbledore. "As I said, there were a number of clues I managed to follow."

To the three friends' dismay, he had a whole list to name. First of all, he had managed to get access to the transcript of Sirius' questioning. He was not particularly surprised that his listeners knew most of the contents of that questioning as well. He had then tried to piece together the sequence of events, knowing that Pettigrew was alive. Harry had to admit that Dumbledore's version was nearly identical to the one he knew from his godfather.

Moreover, Sirius had left a trail during his investigation of Lockhart, for all that the auror trainee, Tonks, had dismissed Lockhart's claims. Dumbledore had also talked to Mrs Figg, who remembered the stray dog Padfoot had pretended to be. He then mentioned that Bathilda Bagshot was an acquaintance of his living in Godric's Hollow, who had remembered seeing Padfoot in front of the church on Hallowe'en.

"The author of _A History of Magic_?" said Harry.

Dumbledore nodded. "She lives quite close to where your family used to live—"

Harry remembered the graves in Godric's Hollow belonging to several Dumbledores, and could not help getting sidetracked himself. He asked after them.

The headmaster hesitated for a moment before nodding. "Some of my family is from there."

He did not say any more on the topic, instead recounting to his listeners how he had carefully asked Percy about, and had it confirmed that Padfoot had stayed with the Weasleys for a little while.

"None of the people I asked thought there was anything at all suspicious about that dog," went on Dumbledore. "Despite the convenient time frame, they could not conceive of that friendly animal having anything at all to do with Sirius Black."

Ron crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Well, did Percy remember Scabbers? My – well, the rat Percy found and then gave to me."

Dumbledore drew back, frowned. It took him no time at all to understand. "Your _pet_ rat? He – Pettigrew – used to live as your pet rat?"

This began an explanation of how Harry, Ron and Hermione had first encountered Sirius as a human, when introducing Scabbers to him, how they had come to believe him over the suddenly exposed Pettigrew. Dumbledore did not interrupt, but let them tell everything in detail, nodding along to the conclusions they told him they had drawn when Pettigrew had threatened them with memory charms, only to try a jumbled explanation for his actions after they had turned the tables on him. Despite having guessed most of it, he listened with rapt attention when they then recounted Sirius' version of the events.

Finally, Dumbledore nodded. "A coherent, believable account of the events." He sighed, looked away from the young faces, which had suddenly grown hopeful. "I'm afraid this is an exceptional case," he went on. "So much so, that the usual practice of assuming someone innocent until proven guilty won't do. I fear, what is needed is the by far more difficult task of actually proving Mr Black innocent. And that is no easy feat. As we all agreed, even a Veritaserum questioning is not infallible. The same applies to memories as well, subject to memory-altering charms as they can be—"

"What, you mean our memories?" exclaimed Ron. "You think Sirius changed our memories somehow? We've known him for well over a year, he's – he—" Ron stopped, frustrated, indecisive about how much to reveal about Sirius' involvement in their adventures, and their ability to stay in contact with him.

"I'm talking more generally. Witness accounts are not above doubt," Dumbledore said. "Your evidence, convincing as it sounds, could easily be dismantled in court—"

"Professor, you keep bringing up proving Sirius' innocence in court," interrupted Hermione. "But what about you? Do you believe us?" she asked shrewdly.

Dumbledore hesitated, clearly undecided how to answer.

Harry gasped. He had not seen what this discussion was really about all this time, but he was beginning to have an inkling. "Professor, you said in the beginning that you wanted to discuss some developments with us, but that it wasn't anything to do with Sirius. Did something new happen with Pettigrew?"

There had been nothing in the news, but by the way Dumbledore drew back, Harry thought he had guessed correctly.

"And now you're trying to decide whether to tell us," surmised Hermione," "because whatever we know would become known to Sirius as well."

"I won't promise not to tell Sirius," said Harry impatiently. If that was Dumbledore's condition, it would not do. He would not make a false promise to the headmaster – unlikely as that was to succeed anyway.

"That was not my intention," said Dumbledore. "I—" He drew a sharp breath. "I believe you enough to tell you some of it – but I will withhold a few details. Yes, something did happen, and I suspect the same group was involved that Pettigrew seems to be a part of, though not Pettigrew himself this time."

Harry waited impatiently for more, watching the eerie light reflected from the glass jars full of revolting things in Snape's office throw shadows on the headmaster's face, sat in the comfortable armchair he had conjured. Everything felt a little out of place about that image – most of all the serious expression on the usually bright face of the headmaster.

"Last time we spoke, Harry, I could not guess what Pettigrew had been looking for in my office. Last night, an object was stolen from the ministry. It was one of a pair of objects, the other of which is in my keep."

"You're not going to tell us what those objects are, then?" said Ron, after the headmaster paused again.

"Not at this time, though perhaps that'll change soon. For now, I'll say that I didn't realise they would be of interest to the parties involved. In fact, I don't believe the aurors have come to the conclusion that Pettigrew is connected to this event at all. The perpetrator this time was a confounded auror – something we have seen a fair number of recently." He regarded Ron and Hermione with a knowing look, until Hermione flushed and looked down. Dumbledore's beard twitched.

"Professor, did Pettigrew manage to take the other item – the one you have – on Saturday?" said Harry.

"No, he did not. I don't believe he even managed to get into my office, as a matter of fact. After last time, I made sure to increase the protection on my office, together with the entrances to the castle. Still, I failed to consider the sewer system…"

With a grimace, Ron told him that Pettigrew had done something similar the year before, and recounted his and Harry's run-in with Pettigrew – but without mentioning the Marauders' Map. "I wish we'd told you, but we didn't realise he was travelling through the _actual_ sewers. After discovering the Chamber of Secrets, we thought his escape route must've been connected to that."

Dumbledore did not admonish them. He looked curious, aware that they were leaving something out – for how could they have found Pettigrew without the Marauders' Map? – but he did not question them. "Indeed a curious state of things," he went on. "Very inventive ways to get inside Hogwarts. By the way, you were right about Pettigrew getting in through the owlery on Hallowe'en, Harry. We discovered a delivery box there with sophisticated warding on it, both to make him less noticeable to the dementors and to repel the owls – to keep them from eating his rat form."

Harry felt relieved, hearing this. It explained why Hedwig had not gone after Wormtail, despite having attacked him in the past. His fear that it might be because of the surveillance charms she was regularly subjected to abated.

"Also, both instances when Pettigrew entered Hogwarts coincided with times when all three of you would be away. I believe you also agree that that was not a coincidence? In the first case, the aurors also discovered somehow that Harry and Sirius were going to be in Godric's Hollow, but I've yet to find out how."

Harry and his friends did not dare look at each other. Dumbledore was not the only one who was unwilling to share all his secrets. They wanted to make sure to keep the existence of the Marauders' Map hidden.

"And yet, once inside Hogwarts, Pettigrew's actions were somewhat less impressive," Dumbledore went on, once again not questioning them. "He got in my office the first time, but I had not even considered the possibility that he would manage to get inside the castle back then, or that my office would be his target. It's even possible that I myself opened the door to let him in, as I was not on the lookout for a small rodent. He was less than impressive once there, at any rate. He did not even manage to ascertain that what he was after was not there, necessitating another v _isit_ – an even less successful one. And, of course, he was almost eaten by your pet cat, Hermione—"

"Wait, so the object – whatever it is – is not in your office?" said Ron.

Dumbledore hesitated for a moment, before finally agreeing. "It wouldn't have been a bad guess for a hiding place, if I had deemed it necessary to protect that object as thoroughly as I could. But I'd been unaware that it was being sought after, so I didn't. Hogwarts is the safest place I have access to – besides Gringotts. My bank account wouldn't be of use in this case, however, because keeping it there would make it very difficult for me to – access it," he said slowly, carefully deciding on the phrasing.

"So it's like one of your instruments in your office, then," surmised Hermione. "It helps you keep track of something?"

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as he nodded. "Indeed. You're exactly right, Hermione. However, I shall not say any more, in fear that you'll guess the whole of it."

Dumbledore soon said goodbye after that, with a mutual promise to keep each other updated. Snape's suspicious gaze followed them out of his office, though he did not say a word in Dumbledore's presence.

That night, Sirius took the news of their conversation with the headmaster well, saying that it was not unexpected. Pettigrew must have had a reason for taking such risks. He was not unnecessarily worried, in fact he was taking it as a good sign that Dumbledore had told them as much as he had. In a good mood, he laughed at their outrage at Snape's plan to give them more detentions to cover up their helping with the Wolfsbane potion.

"Well, that's what you get for helping that git! Not that doing something like that for Remus isn't a great idea." He grimaced. "Or getting along with Snape, if you want that." He smirked. "Really, such concern over a couple little detentions—"

Hermione scowled, drew breath to respond, then deflated. "Oh, no!" she said. "I forgot to ask Professor Dumbledore about that break-in into St Mungo's, and whether he thinks it had anything to do with Pettigrew after all."

Sirius sighed. "Most likely. Assuming our guess is right and Malfoy is involved, they're probably after something _interesting_. They didn't even trust Pettigrew with the operation at the ministry. I'm beginning to think they might stay away from Hogwarts altogether, if they figure out soon that whatever item they're after isn't there."

Harry crossed his arms. He did not see why that thought seemed to make Sirius so happy. Not being able to keep an eye on what Pettigrew was after did not cheer him in the slightest.

Sirius must have guessed some of what Harry was thinking from his expression. "You mightn't be happy about it, but I'd prefer not to have him near any of you. Not that he hasn't tried his best to stay away from _you._ First on Hallowe'en, when he must've assumed that all of you'd be in Hogsmeade, and then during your quidditch match—"

"Us?" said Harry. "What about you? That whole set-up with the aurors—"

"Yes, I also used to think that he'd planned the break-in at the same time I'd be – occupied," said Sirius. "But I think that was just bonus. He probably just hoped it'd prove an opportunity to be rid of me. The second time, he didn't care at all where I was. He only cared where you'd be – that you'd be away from your foe-glass and the Marauders' Map – which he still believes is in your possession."

"Well, we have a copy," said Ron.

"Yes, and so do I," said Sirius. "And Pettigrew mightn't have guessed that, but hopefully he realises now that I have ways of keeping track of him."

Harry, Ron and Hermione left Sirius in his optimistic mood. They themselves were feeling a little off-kilter, not knowing what they could do if Pettigrew really was involved in something outside of Hogwarts.

"Well, there's one other thing we need to do," said Hermione. "Like Professor Dumbledore said, we need to find more evidence of Sirius' innocence."

~HP~

No, it was not entirely due to the surprising workload that he was reluctant to socialise with the other staff of Hogwarts. But Remus with his hairy heart found it difficult to overcome years of habit.

Hagrid would not believe his excuse that he was too busy with work to go out for a pint that Friday afternoon. Even though it was also Hagrid's first year of teaching, he did not seem to find the workload as daunting. Though, of course he was teaching one of the electives, which meant he had far fewer classes. Remus had no idea how the other teachers of the core subjects managed to teach twenty-four classes a week, mark all the homework on time, yet never seemed overworked.

Despite having had a weekend in between, Remus was still not caught up on the work he had missed over Hallowe'en due to the full moon and Pettigrew. Still, he finally agreed that with the whole weekend ahead of him, he could spare the few hours.

It was mostly the usual group of Flitwick, McGonagall and Hagrid that braved the rain and left Hogwarts in the late afternoon, joined by the more infrequent members of the group Remus, Sinistra and Vector.

The dementors were close enough to be felt on the way. The more Dumbledore kept them away from the school, the angrier they were getting, and Remus was beginning to fear that the inhabitants of Hogsmeade were the ones paying for it.

The Three Broomsticks was close to the road from Hogwarts, near one of the ends of the Hogsmeade high street. Remus was about to follow his colleagues in, when a sudden motion caught his eye. Looking along the street, he saw a figure had just fallen down on the cobblestones. It was when he noticed her hair turn a sudden, vivid red as she picked herself up and dusted off her trousers that he recognised who she was.

"I… I just need to go to the post office for a moment. I'll be right back," he said to Hagrid, then walked along the high street towards the post office, where he had seen her disappear into.

It may not be the best idea to talk to an officer of the law, he was aware. He had some things to hide, after all. Still, if there was the possibility to get an update—

The post office was loud, full of squawking birds, a couple hundred owls of different sizes fit inside a not overlarge space. Tonks' hair had turned to a dull brown, but was easy enough to spot despite the change. She was next to the counter, one of only two customers inside. It was close to the end of the work day, after all.

"And you're sure it was this package, then?" she was asking the witch serving at the counter, showing her what appeared to be a photograph.

"Certainly." The witch sounded stand-offish – insulted, almost. "I remember it. He paid for an express delivery to Hogwarts, said it was a fragile item." She drew a large book towards her, leafing through it. "Here's the record. Paid cash, so there was no need to fill in the form."

Tonks had brought a camera, and took a picture of the entry. "Do you remember what he looked like?"

With careful questioning, Tonks extracted a description from her, of a young-ish man, on the thin side, of average height, with a large, bulbous nose, brown hair and a week's growth of beard. Without any obvious scars, tattoos, a limp or other distinguishing features.

"Did he have all his fingers?" Tonks finally asked.

"Excuse me?" The other witch really did sound offended then.

Remus, who had been browsing the shelves, watching the owls to pass the time, turned abruptly.

Tonks sighed. "That's a yes, then. Alright. You said young-ish. How, er, how old would that be?"

It was a fair question, considering the post office witch herself looked to be in her eighties.

She shrugged. "Oh, about that wizard's age," she said, pointing straight at Remus.

Tonks turned towards him as well. "Wotcher, Professor!" she greeted him cheerfully after only a moment's surprise.

"It wasn't me," said Remus, feeling a little caught out. He took it as a good sign that it brought a smile to her face.

The post office employee looked him over critically, tutting. "No, no. _Him_ I'd have remembered." She did not sound like she meant it as a compliment, either.

Tonks returned the photograph and her camera to her backpack, thanked her and left, Remus following after her.

Remus hastened to explain his presence. "I'm just here for some drinks. In Hogsmeade, I mean. I'm here with some of the other teachers. Or, rather, they're in the Three Broomsticks. I—" He stopped his rambling, unsure how to explain that he had been eavesdropping on what seemed to be an investigation.

Tonks did not seem upset, at any rate. She started slowly walking along the high street, in the direction of the Three Broomsticks. Remus walked beside her.

"Oh, well, if you were hoping for an update, you just heard most of it." She pointed back towards the post office.

"I'm afraid I'm at something of a loss," said Remus.

"Oh, I'm investigating the package delivery that Pettigrew used to get into Hogwarts on Hallowe'en," said Tonks. "I was given the task because I'm good with disguises, you see." She grimaced. "So Scrimgeour thought I could question the witnesses about the physical descriptions. I tend to be quite good at guessing what's real and what's part of a disguise."

"I'm sorry, I'm not following," said Remus. "Pettigrew had himself delivered inside a parcel?"

Tonks looked at him with a fair amount of surprise. "You didn't know?"

"I – No, I can't say that I did. I don't know whether to be impressed or horrified."

Tonks nodded. "Pretty inventive, right? Rumour has it that Dumbledore was the one who figured it out. Savage, one of the senior aurors, then found the package in the Hogwarts owlery the following morning." She stopped in the middle of the road and extracted the photograph from her bag to show him.

It was an ordinary moving photograph, showing someone's hands holding a small parcel package, rotating it slowly from all sides.

"How bizarre. And it was delivered by an ordinary post owl?"

She nodded. "It wouldn't have been my first guess, either." She then explained about the protective enchantments of Hogwarts being better at checking the owls than the actual parcels due to privacy issues. "So annoying, that." She shook her head. "I mean, look at this!" She pointed to the postal address on the package in the photograph. "It's to be delivered to a 'John Smith' – clearly a fake name. And then, the first address line reads 'The Owlery!' I mean, really! If that postal worker had just properly looked at it—"

"Did you point that out to her?" said Remus. It would explain what the witch had taken offence to.

Tonks grimaced. "I just asked her—" She huffed. "I just pointed out that a delivery to a boarding school – to children away from their parents – might've warranted a bit more care."

"I see." Remus felt a smile pull at the corner of his mouth, and tried his best to fight it. No wonder the postal worker had sounded offended.

Tonks did not miss that. She sighed. "She told me it was not part of her job." She shook her head, looking unhappy. "Well, so much for the students' privacy. As if it wasn't enough that one student's mail was under surveillance. Now every delivery to Hogwarts will have to—"

"What?"

Tonks drew back. "Oh, forget I said that. It isn't supposed to be, er, widely known."

Remus was not sure what to make of the throwaway comment, especially as he had the bad feeling that he could guess the identity of the student in question. She clearly was not willing to say more, however. "So what did you make of the description? It could hardly have been Pettigrew himself. Hogsmeade is constantly patrolled. Besides, he'd have been inside the parcel," he said instead.

"Well, he could've climbed in afterwards. And Hogsmeade isn't completely secure. Hogwarts is much better protected, but Pettigrew managed to get in anyway. But no, I don't think it was him. The over-large nose, the hair colour – that sort of thing might all be part of the disguise. Those are the things that are easy to change, so that's what most people go for when they want to alter their appearance. But disguising a missing finger would be much harder. Also, the weight and height difference. Changing mass is one of the more difficult aspects of transfiguration – much more so than colouring." She considered it for a moment. "It could've been Black, I suppose. If he's skilled at transfiguration. Beyond being an animagus, I mean."

Remus made himself tell her that it was possible it had been Sirius. Even though he felt so strongly that it had not been him. That he and Pettigrew were not conspiring together, but were on opposing sides.

Remus' heart gave a lurch, as that thought collided with what had been said before, about the ministry reading a student's letters. If it was Harry, as he suspected, then the reason for it was because it had been Harry's letter to Azkaban that had led to Sirius' escape. Were they suspecting that Harry might be in contact with Sirius?

"We're here, I suppose," said Tonks, pointing to the entrance to the pub. "You just had a far-away look. Were you considering if it could've been Black?"

"No, I don't think it was him," said Remus before he could think better of it, but did not go on.

"Well, maybe you could tell me about your reasoning at some point?"

Remus was not fully listening, and shot her a confused look.

"I was wondering if you'd like to discuss the evidence against your former friends some more, maybe try to figure out their motivations. And you may have some questions for me. Some things are confidential, but there's also a fair amount that Mad-Eye wouldn't mind me telling you."

Remus blinked, returning to the conversation. Mad-Eye must have fairly praised him to her, for her to be that willing to give out information on an open investigation. Remus felt the bitterness of knowing the trust was not entirely deserved. And yet, he found himself agreeing with her, his wish to get more information outweighing his scruples.

Once she had left, Remus' thoughts settled back on the possibility that Harry was in contact with Sirius. It was not a new thought to him. For weeks now, he had been noticing something in Harry's mannerisms, in his secretive ways, that was familiar, yet did not remind him of James. He was undecided whether the terror he felt was due to the potential danger to Harry or due to the danger to both Harry and Sirius, were the ministry to find out. After all, if Sirius was innocent, there was no harm in him keeping in contact with his godson.

Remus had fought accepting the possibility at first. He barely knew Harry, and it was possible that he merely kept noticing the differences to James, whom he resembled so much physically, yet differed from in other ways. The other teachers, who certainly knew him much better would have noticed a change in Harry's behaviour much more easily, Remus tried to tell himself.

He had learned about Harry's miserable family situation from Snape, of all people, during a discussion in the staff room. While Snape had delighted in seeing Remus' pain and guilt at the information, Flitwick had disagreed, recounting the effort Harry had gone through in his first year to be able to contact his cousin without breaking the Statute of Secrecy. Hagrid had dashed Remus' momentary relief, explaining that Harry only got along with his cousin, but he really did have serious issues with his aunt and uncle.

For some time, Remus had tried to convince himself that Harry's home life, in some ways reminiscent of Sirius', might very well explain their apparent similarities. Harry could hardly be expected to be as happy and confident as James had been, without having been spoiled by two doting parents.

Then Harry and his friends had mentioned Pettigrew a mere few days before Hallowe'en – and in relation with Godric's Hollow. Never mind their privacy – Remus wished he had listened better.

It had been the wolf who had finally made Remus admit what he was thinking. Pettigrew breaking into Hogwarts on the morning after the full moon, on Hallowe'en, had made Remus' recovery that much more difficult – both because he had forced himself to be on his feet the following day, to help search the castle, and because the wolf, whose hold on him had still been felt, had been conflicted at Wormtail's presence.

Snape was not entirely wrong to question his loyalties, Remus had to admit to himself. The wolf – Moony – still thought of Wormtail and Padfoot as his companions, his pack. Remus, fighting the waning influence of the moon, had spent the following day fading in and out of horrible nightmares. The recent image he had of Harry had become overlaid with older memories of Sirius, wearing a very similar expression, using very similar phrasing.

There was reason to suspect, Remus knew. Yet, he remained silent on the matter. He, with the hairy heart and with a werewolf's loyalties, was beginning to feel like a traitor the more he believed in Sirius' innocence in the face of everyone else's hatred. It was precisely that hatred, that refusal to consider the possibility that they might have made a mistake, the vindictive certainty of so many people that Sirius, who used to be so high up in the world, was the worst and had always been so that made Remus ever more firm in his belief that his former friend might be innocent.

And he would not betray Padfoot and Prongs' son when there was a good chance that he was right.


	16. Chapter 16

Harry shifted the sneakoscope as he got his defence book out of his bag. He had found it stuffed inside a sock in his trunk that morning, and had decided to keep it close at hand. If Pettigrew thought they were vigilant and trying to keep track of him, then he would do his best to satisfy those expectations.

Harry, Hermione and Ron had spent the weekend going over everything they had found out. Harry, finally, had brought up the prophecy.

"It's the same thing every year," he had told his friends. "We decide that whatever trouble is happening isn't our concern, until the trouble finally does find me – as it's bound to, because of the prophecy! We really should know better by now."

His friends had agreed then that no matter that it looked like Pettigrew would be involved with something outside of Hogwarts, they would not become complacent, would not stop trying to keep track of his movements. And while they did not know what exactly was coming their way, they would do their best to prepare.

They had picked up their somewhat neglected duelling practice again that weekend, had pledged to go through the _Daily Prophet_ with utmost care from then on – to make sure they would not miss any mention of anything Pettigrew might be involved in, and had discussed ways to make the best of Harry's dark detectors and their copy of the Marauders' Map.

Harry had noticed Lupin looking at him strangely a few times since the lesson had begun, but he supposed if his sneakoscope was not going off, it must not mean anything. He handed over his essay on hinkypunks when leaving the classroom, then shuffled out slowly.

Ron and Hermione had muggle studies soon after and were in discussion about the upcoming lesson. Harry ended up walking next to Neville, who asked him a couple questions about the essays they had just handed in, which Harry was not sure he had got right himself.

"Are you off to the library to wait for Ron and Hermione?" Neville then asked.

Harry supposed he and his friends did have something of a routine. "Er, well, we'll go there together, and then they'll leave when it's time for them to go to muggle studies—"

The shrill whistle seemed to come completely out of the blue. Harry needed a moment to recognise that it was the sneakoscope, much to his surprise. Hermione and Ron had stopped walking and were looking at him oddly. Harry reached into his bag to withdraw the sneakoscope, wondering what had set it off. Neville, looking at them oddly, excused himself before Harry had come up with an answer.

The sneakoscope went quiet a moment later.

"It's a cheap little thing." Ron sighed. "Maybe it's just making mistakes."

It was not until much later in the day that it occurred to Harry that Neville had ancient runes with Hermione. His mentioning that she would be having muggle studies at the same time might have made Neville suspicious, which could have set off the sneakoscope, Harry supposed.

Harry made sure to get his invisibility cloak for their later trip to Snape's office while waiting for Hermione and Ron to return to the library. Dumbledore had advised against using the time-turner, which meant that they had to think of good excuses for why they would be disappearing twice a week in the evenings. He was just considering how often they could claim to be studying in the library and get away without anyone noticing that they were not actually there, when Hermione and Ron returned with Neville in tow.

Studying with Neville was fine. It was even fun every now and then. Hermione was much more polite with him than with either Ron or Harry, and because Neville typically struggled more with the material, it meant that Hermione was forced to keep her more scathing comments in check.

Studying with Neville was a problem when they were about to go off to the dungeons without anyone knowing about it.

There was still well over an hour to go until it was time for dinner, and they still had plenty of homework to do. Harry struggled to think of an excuse why they had to leave, but nothing came to mind. Finally, Hermione began to pack her bag.

"Sorry, Neville, we have to run now." She looked at Ron and then at Harry, clearly expecting them to provide an excuse.

"Yeah, we need to—" Ron began, then looked at Harry as well. When there was no help forthcoming, he went on, "We, er, wanted to go back to the common room—"

"Oh, I'll head back as well—" Neville said at once, before getting interrupted by another shrill whistle.

Harry sighed. He supposed they were not entirely inconspicuous, and Neville had known them for a while. It was a warning that they would need to be more careful. As for Neville, looking embarrassed, having realised that his snooping attempt had been discovered, Harry supposed he could be trusted with a partial truth.

"Yeah, we're up to something," said Harry with a resigned grin.

Neville grinned back, apologised, and let them leave without any more awkward questions.

~HP~

The quidditch match between Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, which would decide if Gryffindor still had any hope to win the Quidditch Cup, would be happening on Saturday the 27th, and Harry would have to attend it because not doing so would look very suspicious. Considering how sleep-deprived he would be after a night in London, he would have preferred to go the weekend before, on Friday the 19th, but Hermione vetoed that. The week following after that would be the one leading up to the full moon, the Wolfsbane potion would be reaching its third stage, and Harry, Ron and Hermione would no longer be helping with it. That would leave them with more time to prepare. Thus, instead of travelling on the upcoming weekend, they decided to travel on the night of the following Friday, the 26th of November.

There was indeed need for preparation. There were the transfiguration exercises that Sirius had set them – all very advanced for their current skill level, easily consuming every free minute they had. Then they had to dictate their numerological calculations for their words to Sirius through Harry's talking mirror. This was so Sirius could determine how much of a change each of the words were likely to cause.

"As I said before, partial transformations can be tricky," Sirius explained. "It's safest to try words first that'll cause a superficial change – like sprouting fur, say – instead of a word that'll cause some sort of internal change."

"And there's a way to determine that beforehand?" Despite her dubious tone, Hermione sounded intrigued.

Sirius nodded. "To some extent, and with a fair amount of uncertainty. We – the four of us Marauders – learned about this the hard way. James fared reasonably well, but after the rest of us had one too many accidents, we finally sat down and learned this." He held up a book in front of the mirror, and leafed through a few pages of tightly written arithmantic calculations.

Noticing the boys' dismayed looks, Sirius laughed. "I'm not expecting you to learn this. It took us months of concerted effort – and Remus helped as well. He finally accepted that we were doing it, and thought it safer to help us avoid horrible accidents." He shook his head at the memory. "No, this I'll calculate for you before your visit."

Sirius had the calculations done a few days before their trip, as promised. Ron was lucky, in that one of his words seemed to be quite safe for a first attempt. Hermione's words all had somewhat higher values, but Sirius thought that she should be able to handle that.

"As for you, Harry—" Sirius hesitated, looked down at his calculations. "I'm not sure if it'd be a good idea for you to try just yet. I won't tell you not to," he added hastily, before Harry could complain. "You'll be travelling all the way to London, so I understand that you'd want to try, but both of your words – 'truth' and 'secret' – have higher values than I'd recommend for a first attempt—"

Harry swallowed, feeling nervous all of a sudden. Then he decided not to be silly about it. "I actually found another word – or maybe two. Would you be able to calculate those values for it before Friday?"

Sirius was not the only one looking surprised. Harry sighed, seeing three pairs of eyes on him. He supposed he would have to explain. Haltingly, he told them of the words he had found during the quidditch match. He considered stopping at 'flying', but then set his jaw, angry at his hesitancy. What sort of Gryffindor was he? Once he had said it, three pairs of shocked eyes stared back at him.

Sirius got over it quickly. "That's not as awful as you seem to think, Harry. A lot of black animals have some sort of association with death, and the way your early life's gone, it's just been a large influence on you."

He did not sound worried or upset, and Harry felt a heavy weight lift off his chest. His godfather's explanation made sense. Harry was suddenly feeling a bit foolish for having hesitated so much, for having let it worry him to the point where he had not spoken about it with anyone – when with just a few words Sirius had dispelled his worries.

"Wait, you turn into a black animal. So is death one of your words as well?" said Ron.

"Er, something like that," said Sirius, but did not go on. "Anyway, if you'd dictate your calculations, Harry…"

Harry did so the following evening, and the night before their trip Sirius had more pleasant news for him. The new words would be safe enough for him to try.

It was hours after curfew on Friday when Harry, Ron and Hermione made it to the top of the astronomy tower, having successfully made it past the disgruntled Fat Lady and without having run into anyone on the way. Hermione checked the time. It was well before eleven. Thankfully, they did not need to sneak around to help with the Wolfsbane potion that Friday, there were no Draco Malfoys who had overheard their plans, as had happened in their first year, and the astronomy lesson would not begin for another hour.

Crookshanks and Hedwig were not as quiet as Harry might have liked, but he was not protesting their presence the way Ron was. Or, rather, Ron was protesting Crookshanks' presence.

Sirius had mentioned that his little owl seemed a bit lonely, so Harry had offered Hedwig as company. But because she kept getting intercepted so often when delivering letters, he had thought it best to take her along in the car, rather than let her fly to London on her own. Hermione had immediately decided to bring her cat along as well, not heeding Ron's warning that a cat was hardly the sort of company a bird would enjoy.

They did not have to wait long. They heard the sound of the Ford Anglia, even though they could not see it until it landed – reasonably quietly – and dropped the invisibility feature. It threw its doors open and allowed them all to climb in. It did not even complain when Ron took the wheel, even though the car knew the exact directions. Hermione was watching the school, noting the exact time when the astronomy tower disappeared from view. They would need to know at which point to return in time, to avoid running into their previous selves.

The car landed again at the edge of the forest, where Padfoot was waiting to join them. Then they were high up in the air, invisible, travelling at high speed to London.

"Really, Hermione, did Crookshanks have to come along?" Ron was all but glaring at the cat. "We don't exactly have extra space—"

"Oh, please! There's plenty of space! And Crookshanks barely needs any. He's going to be sitting in my lap—"

Harry rather thought she was wrong on two counts. What space there had been in the back had been taken up by Padfoot. And Crookshanks had jumped off Hermione's lap as soon as he had seen the huge dog.

"I'm just saying he's out of place!" said Ron. "You really think a cat's a good company for two birds and a dog?"

Hermione, scowl firmly on her face, was trying to decide whether to argue back or 'rescue' Crookshanks from Padfoot first, when the unnatural cat provided her answer for her. Crookshanks was curious about Padfoot, rather than scared, and in a very short time had cosied up to him – causing Ron's dismay as Hermione basked in being proven right.

Harry tried to sleep on the way, though it was difficult. Now that the first – if partial – transformation was so close, the excitement was mounting. He and his friends kept guessing their potential animagus forms, distracting each other from sleep. Sirius did not join the discussion, even though he had transformed into a human, and kept encouraging them to try to sleep, as they would be adding a fair few hours to their night.

Harry must have nodded off after all, because he jolted awake when the car landed. Looking out the window, he saw that they were driving along a shabby muggle street, with rubbish bags lining the pavement. They passed a little square filled with unkempt grass. The houses around them looked grimy, and more than one had broken windows.

"We're here," said Sirius grimly, before stopping the car.

Harry must have slept more than he had realised, because he had not even noticed when Ron and Sirius had switched seats. Hermione, sitting next to him in the back seat, was also yawning. They all climbed out, Harry and Hermione carrying their pets, and followed Sirius to a house that by no means looked any more appealing than its neighbours, the black paint on its door looking shabby and scratched.

Up the worn steps they went, hurrying now, to attract as little attention from the muggles in the vicinity as they could – even though Sirius had assured them that the house was invisible to muggles. Sirius opened the door and ushered them into a dark, musty hallway.

"Welcome to the House of Black," he said, while he closed the door behind him.

It was surprisingly dark inside until Sirius flicked his wand at the old-fashioned gas lamps along the walls, shedding light on a long, gloomy hallway lined with age-blackened portraits, which had all been turned to face the wall.

"You can wreck everything but the wards. Though if you do, better make sure the portraits don't witness it," said Sirius. He sounded grim, rather than joking. "They can't hear us now – I made sure of that. Well, except that one particular portrait, of course…"

He did not explain further, but did point out a pair of long, moth-eaten curtains as they walked past, cautioning them to be quiet. After skirting an umbrella stand that looked as though it had been made from a severed troll's leg, he led them up a dark staircase.

Hermione finally broke the astonished silence while they were passing a row of shrunken heads mounted on plaques on the wall. "Sirius, what are these?" She stopped on the stair, to take a closer look at them. "Are they from house elves?" she said, aghast.

Sirius stopped as well, turned back, nodded. "That's my family for you. Used to cut off the heads of their house elves once they grew too weak to carry a tea tray." His voice had an unnatural ring to it. He started up the stairs again. "The current one can't wait for the _honour_ ," he added under his breath.

"The current—" Hermione faltered in her step, almost colliding with Ron behind her. Crookshanks hissed and jumped out of her arms. "You mean, there's a house elf here?"

"I ordered him to stay downstairs in the kitchen. Then I put up noise dampening charms, to make sure he wouldn't be able to hear you." Sirius did not turn around or slow down as he explained this. "He only obeys me because he has to. I wouldn't put it past him to try to find some loophole to make trouble."

Hermione, becoming upset, began asking after the house elf who was forced to take Sirius' orders. After the third comment she made, Sirius exhaled, stopping on the second floor landing.

"I don't like having him around any more than you do, Hermione," he said. "I'll tell you what. I'll give him clothes as soon as I'm not being searched for by the aurors – or if I can find another safe place and can give this one up. I'd do it now, but then he'd run to the aurors right away, and I might still need to stay here this winter." His tone was short, on edge.

Hermione pressed her lips into a thin line, but let go of the topic.

Sirius led them to the library. It was vast, filled from floor to ceiling with shelves in several rows, reminiscent of the library at Hogwarts. The little owl was in there as well, and flew in a large circle around the room as soon as he noticed them, excited at the audience. Hedwig looked as unimpressed by the display as she had the first time she had met him, but after a moment she did fly off Harry's arm to greet him.

"I didn't realise you'd kept him," said Harry.

Sirius followed his gaze. His closed expression cleared somewhat when his eyes landed on the owl. "He didn't seem eager to leave, and I didn't want to make him. Now I don't know what to do with him. I'm constantly moving, and I'm not even using him to deliver letters."

Crookshanks, to his credit, did not try to chase the birds. He was far more interested in staying close to Sirius and kept circling him curiously.

"Why haven't you named him?" asked Ron, alternately watching the little owl and Crookshanks with a mixture of curiosity and an odd sort of disappointment at being proven wrong.

"I'm hoping to find him a better home soon. Then his permanent owners can give him a name."

Hermione was perusing the book covers along the shelves. They looked dark, reminiscent of the books from the restricted section of the Hogwarts library, and on closer inspection, had titles to match the looks.

"I wouldn't recommend them for light reading," said Sirius. "Come on, I've set everything up over here."

He led them to the farthest corner from the door. Harry recognised having seen the windowsill through the talking mirror. The curtains were squished against the windowpane and on top were placed a couple books, some parchment, ink and quill. Incongruously, these items were joined by colourful muggle snacks. Not far from the window, there was also a dusty old armchair, placed in the corner of the room.

Ron finally gave up his attempt to figure out Crookshanks and turned to the snacks instead. "Ooh, fizzy drinks in plastic bottles." He picked one up. "We learned about them in muggle studies."

Sirius nodded. "I thought Harry and Hermione might like them. They're not as bad as I remembered from before Azkaban," he added.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I want to go first," she said, getting back on topic.

Sirius, leaning against the wall next to the window, leafed through the sheets of parchment on the windowsill, picking one up. "Here's the calculations I did for your words, Hermione."

Hermione accepted the sheet of parchment curiously.

"The words you found so far – 'persevering', 'purpose' and 'honesty' – all have higher scores than I'd have liked – meaning they'll cause somewhat significant changes—"

"Actually, I may have—" Hermione began to say, but hesitated, focussing on the parchment instead. "But you still think I can try transforming, right? 'Persevering' seems to have the lowest value—"

"Yes, go ahead," said Sirius without any further preamble.

Hermione looked a bit put on the spot, but got over it quickly enough. "So, the Latin version. And I just say the word and think back to the moment when I first discovered it—"

Sirius drew his wand and directed the boys to be somewhat out of the way. "Yes. Try 'perseverans' and be ready to end it as soon as it begins to lose power – or if something is going wrong—"

"With the simple untransfiguration spell. Right. Alright." Hermione nodded, collected her courage and raised her wand. " _Perseverans_ —"

Harry had no time to feel nervous. The change happened at once. Hermione's feet – shoes included – began to change, grew thin and covered in white fur, with definite paws at her toes—

" _Reparifarg_ _e!_ " said Hermione much earlier than expected.

"Oh, well done, Hermione!" said Sirius, grinning at her. "A nice, clean transformation. And no problems reversing it, either."

"Ooh, that was so strange!" Hermione squealed a little in her excitement. "Oh, I want to try it again! And could I, maybe, try another of my words as well? I know the other words are going to be more difficult, but this one went really well – right? – and I really can't tell what animal I'm supposed to be yet—"

Sirius looked amused. "Actually—" he began to say, but then he settled on, "One thing at a time." He took the next sheet of parchment and handed it to Ron. "You go next. Thankfully, one of your words – 'chivalry' – has a nice, low value, and the translation as 'virtus' seems to work as well. So you can try that one. "

Ron, if anything, looked more nervous. Hermione's success had not dispelled his fears. It would hardly be the first time that she managed something at the first try, which he needed to struggle at. Indeed, his first try had no effect. Sirius went over the memory of finding the word with him, to help him focus on the part of himself that it was referring to. On his second try, Ron succeeded. Dense, sleek fur sprouted along his throat, of a dark maroon colour, with a white marking, its shape reminiscent of a sword.

Ending the transformation did not go as smoothly for Ron as it had for Hermione. The fur seemed to merge with his skin, the marking beginning to look like a scar, before Sirius took over and reversed it completely.

Hermione was the first to congratulate Ron on his success, before he could second-guess himself. Sirius followed suit, agreeing that he had done very well with a difficult task.

"Right." Sirius turned to the windowsill. "Harry's turn." With some hesitation, he picked up the final sheet of parchment, scowling at it as he handed it to his godson.

Harry looked at the calculations. Sirius had circled the relevant values – similarly low in both cases. The words themselves were also circled. The word 'volo' was underlined, and next to it was the word 'mors'.

"You said the word was 'flying' or 'I fly', right?" said Sirius. His voice was off.

"I think it's 'I fly' – at least the numerological—"

Sirius looked down at the parchment as well, pointing to the underlined words. "Those are the Latin translations—"

But Harry required no further explanation. It was his wand shopping all over again. Riddle taunting him with their 'strange likenesses' in the Chamber of Secrets. Voldemort. Vol-de-mort. How had he not noticed it until that moment? For his other words, Harry had been looking at the Latin translations himself, but after finding a word like 'death' he had not been as eager to proceed to the next stage.

Hermione and Ron caught on to the strange mood, and the tension in the room rose. Hermione grabbed the parchment from Harry's hands, and a small, distressed sound escaped her. She had understood. Harry was aware of Ron taking a look at the parchment as well, before falling silent. They had all fallen silent.

"I guess I'll try 'I fly', then," Harry said loudly. He tried for casual, but his voice was off as well.

Harry looked away, not wanting to see the pity in their faces. He tried to recover the excitement he had felt at his first transformation on the way to London. Trying to suppress the trepidation in the back of his mind, Harry thought back to the quidditch match, to the trance that had led him to his new word.

He raised his wand. " _Volo_ —" he said forcefully enough to silence his nerves.

The pain sliced through him before he had finished saying the word. His skin was on fire, as if being pierced by needles all over. Except the needles were all trying to push out of his skin. He tried to end it, but he realised he had dropped his wand—

The spell ended abruptly. Harry, on his knees, looked up to see Sirius' wand pointed at him. His godfather and friends were regarding him with dismayed expressions.

Harry got up. "I want something to drink. How about you guys?" he said into the silence. He walked over to the windowsill before anyone could say otherwise.

Reluctantly, Ron joined him, and after a moment's hesitation so did Hermione. She picked at her drink and at the sweets Sirius had generously provided for them.

"I – I think you were sprouting some feathers," said Ron. "I mean, before, er—"

"Yes, maybe." Harry did not particularly want to discuss the experience. "I guess, with the word being what it is, I'd have to turn into a bird."

"Well, not necessarily," said Hermione. "There's insects, of course. And then there are a few flying mammals—"

"What, like bats?" Harry tried for levity. He did appreciate her ability to be studious in almost any circumstance.

"Well, at least you know you're not one of those," said Ron.

Harry returned his friend's smile. The uncomfortable moment was passing. "Well, I'll figure out more once I try again – but better with another word." He sighed. "Sirius, what do you think went wrong?"

His godfather came over and poured himself some of the overly sweet drink as well. "I'm not sure," he finally said. "I guess it might be—" He trailed off, as he glanced sideways at Harry's parchment, now lying on the armchair next to the window. Then, at Harry's questioning look, he said slowly, "You found two words at once and they could be connected – you might have to use them both at once. But you'll see once you've managed to form sentences with your words. Actually, James had a case of that. Two of his words—"

"Anyway." Sirius turned away from the armchair, changing the topic. "Today was not a bad effort all around. You three know a fair amount about your forms now. Hermione and Ron are clearly mammals, and Harry is some sort of a bird. I can't say any more about Harry or Ron, but we saw what Hermione's paws looked like—"

"Not really," said Hermione. "My feet didn't fully transform. There was just a vague outline. I mean, I guess I won't have hooves, but—"

Sirius hummed. "Considering the sorts of words you found, though, I think it's pretty clear what you'll turn into—"

Harry was surprised to hear this, and by the looks of it, so was Ron. Hermione, on the other hand, scowled – but did not look surprised.

"Hardly," she said. "There're so many different mammals I could be. I barely transformed at all, and I've only found three words so far. Well, four, actually – but you've only heard three. So—"

"No! Crookshanks, no!" Ron shouted all of a sudden.

They followed his gaze to one of the tall shelves. Sirius' little owl had made himself comfortable between the books and seemed to be dozing, tired after all that showing off of earlier. Crookshanks was precariously close, having climbed the shelf. Ron was ready to climb after him, shouting at him to get away from the bird. The owl woke at the shouting, but did not seem inclined to move. Neither did Crookshanks.

"Don't shout at him, Ron!" Hermione came to her cat's defence. "He doesn't mean any harm! If you stop scaring him, he'll climb back down all on his own—"

Ron was not listening to Hermione. He dragged the armchair to the shelf to get to Crookshanks. Harry, meanwhile, noticed Hedwig, who had been alerted by Ron's shouting and was now sitting nearby, watching the shelf and the other two pets. Harry considered asking her to just make Sirius' owl move, but was not sure he wanted to get between his friends' argument.

"Wait, let me try first," Sirius said to Ron. Then he turned to Harry. "You're alright, aren't you?"

Harry nodded, and Sirius turned into Padfoot, to try to communicate with Crookshanks. Harry picked up his parchment, which had floated off the armchair while Ron was dragging it around. The circled words drew his eye. Not quite like Voldemort's name. Anger coursed through him, recalling that he had found them while reliving the memory of Voldemort murdering his parents in order to get to him, to kill him.

Yet, at that moment, he had not been afraid. With sudden clarity, Harry recalled the grim determination that had come with the trance.

Harry was barely aware of Hermione arguing with Ron and Padfoot barking. His thoughts were racing. Maybe that was it, he thought with sudden excitement. His refusal to cower in fear back then was hardly similar to how he had been fearing the word he had found since then. Harry told himself to take heart and to be honest with himself. What sort of Gryffindor was he if he could not even face his own nature? He had to try again.

He cast the animagus spell almost automatically, trying to remember exactly how he had felt back during the quidditch match. It was only when he became aware that he was surrounded by Ron, Hermione and Sirius that he realised he had once again gone through a trance. The experience was still too immediate to make it easy to explain, but he tried his best.

"You were kind of right, Sirius," he said. "The whole point is that link between the words. That I'm not afraid – that 'I fly my course unafraid of death'."

Sirius was regarding him with a strange expression. It took Harry a moment to recognise it as pride.

"Of course," said Sirius. "What does that snake know about flying? Or the courage to recognise that some things are worth dying for?"

"Oh, right," said Hermione. "You-know-who's name means something like flight from death, doesn't it?"

She was holding a purring Crookshanks, Harry noticed.

"He hasn't eaten Sirius' owl, has he?" asked Harry, partly as a distraction. He was beginning to feel uncomfortable under his friends' scrutiny.

"Nah, Padfoot talked him around, I think," said Ron, for once not openly hostile towards the cat.

His almost fond expression made Harry wonder if he had missed something.

Sirius barked a laugh. "He's really surprisingly clever. And not at all a loner like most cats. He likes to make friends, especially with his owner's friends and their pets—"

"And he seems to like dogs, doesn't he?" said Ron. Now he really did sound fond.

Sirius snorted. "Clearly."

He looked at Hermione when saying this, who scowled in response. Harry yet again felt that he was missing something.

"So he's just befriended the owl? Hedwig too?" Harry looked around for her, but she also seemed to have found a secluded corner for herself.

Ron nodded. "Alright. I'll admit it. He's not so bad. But I want it pointed out that he's an unnatural cat—"

"No he isn't," said Hermione at once, cradling her cat even closer.

"Er, actually…" Harry hesitated at Hermione's put-out expression. He better proceed with caution. "You know I told you how Mrs Figg breeds part-kneazle cats? She kept telling me about the differences between cats and kneazles, and how to tell them apart. And looking at Crookshanks – do you think he could have a little bit of kneazle in him?"

Sirius snorted before Hermione could reply. "A little bit? I'd be surprised if that _kneazle_ has more than a little cat in him."

Instantly, Hermione's face darkened and she started arguing back, almost irrationally trying to prove Sirius wrong. Crookshanks had to escape from her hold as it grew ever tighter. Harry frowned at her, wondering where her vehemence was coming from.

"Sirius, I had an idea about your owl," said Ron, interrupting the futile argument. "You said that he's tiring of following you around. Couldn't you just leave him here, in this house? If you left a window open, he could just come and go as he pleased—"

Sirius grimaced. "I thought about that. But I wouldn't put it past Kreacher to do him some harm." Sirius' expression closed off again, losing much of the good cheer he had regained since entering the house.

"Who?" asked Harry.

"The house elf."

Hermione had several things to say about that. The words came bursting out of her, as if she had been wanting to say them a while. Harry realised suddenly why she had been arguing with Sirius. She was still upset about finding out that he owned a house elf.

Sirius finally stopped her when she claimed that Kreacher would not harm the owl. "How would you know what he would or wouldn't do? You've never met him," he said.

"Well, maybe we should," she retorted. "He's forced to obey you, isn't he? So what's the danger?"

"Dobby managed to warn me when he was still owned by the Malfoys," Harry reminded her, then cringed at her betrayed look.

"Look, Hermione, it's better if Sirius doesn't leave the owl here, isn't it?" said Ron. "It'll be less work for the house elf – not that he seems to be doing much work…" He looked around the dusty, neglected room critically.

It was Crookshanks who finally did it. He curled up against Sirius' leg, purring contentedly – not interested in taking Hermione's side.

"Well, I've never even met a house elf," she snapped. "What do I know? I'm just a muggleborn. Maybe Kreacher is perfectly happy being ordered to stay in the kitchen when there're guests in the house. Maybe he doesn't mind cleaning up after us and after random owls. Maybe he likes serving the – what was it? – heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black?"

Sirius had drawn back, his typical slightly haughty expression getting more pronounced. Harry was about to ask Hermione where she was getting such ideas from, but then he remembered what Sirius had told them of his Veritaserum questioning, when they had met with him in the Shrieking Shack. He had said something about having had a high opinion of his relatives, had he not? Harry had barely given that any thought, but it seemed it had made a worse impression on Hermione. Perhaps because she herself was a muggleborn, Harry surmised.

"Oh, Kreacher does love to serve the House of Black," Sirius said after barely a pause, his voice conversational, his expression almost bored. "He's loyal to their memory to the deepest recesses of his shrivelled heart. However, he doesn't consider _me_ as part of the family any more – what with my parents disowning me. It wasn't enough to actually disinherit me, but they certainly tried their best—"

Noticing both of his friends' surprised faces, Harry realised that Sirius had never mentioned being disowned or running away from home around them – as he had around Harry.

"Really, Hermione, if I'd known you'd be so interested in meeting him, I might've arranged something. Though, a fair warning – I doubt he'd consider a – well, a muggleborn much of a guest. So if you do meet him, you'll have to contend with hearing certain derogatory terms with regards to your parentage." Sirius' strange, haughty facade cracked then. He sighed, then grimaced. "It won't be possible today, though. There's something I found in my brother's room that I need to show to all of you, and Kreacher would have a fit if he saw any of us anywhere near his Dear Young Master Regulus' things."

"Well, if he'd rather not have me in your brother's room…" Hermione trailed off, then looked away sheepishly. She had a feeling that she had gone a bit too far, and stopped arguing further. If she was surprised at hearing about Kreacher's supposed loyalty to the rest of the Black family, she did not say anything about it either.

Harry regarded her, the stubborn set of her jaw, her arms crossed in front of her chest.

Ron preempted him. "Well, do we all need to go?" he asked, in her support. "Hermione, if you still wanted to work on your spell, or—"

Sirius shook his head. "No, it's just an old newspaper clipping I wanted to show you. I can go and get it myself, actually."

Even though Harry would have loved to see more of Sirius' mysterious house, he found himself nodding as well. "I think I still wanted to look at my spell – and you, Hermione, were saying something about having found a fourth word—?"

Hermione looked at her friends, her expression still sheepish, but also grateful. "I – Yes, I found another word when I confounded that auror in Hogsmeade." Her grimace resembled a resigned sort of smile. "It's 'loyalty'." Not quite an apology, but a concession of a sorts.

Sirius' lips twitched as well, but he did not comment. With a murmured, "I'll be right back," he left the library.

Hermione turned to Crookshanks, averting her gaze from her friends. Ron crouched beside them, voluntarily interacting with the cat.

Harry, on the other hand, really did want to work on his spell. He picked up a couple of Sirius' books, sat in the armchair and began calculating. He had done this a few times now, and it did not take him long. He was finished with the entire phrase he had completed that day by the time Sirius returned.

"I think 'I fly my course unafraid of death' will work," said Harry, before he could lose his nerve. His translation was a bit clunky, but it should be serviceable. He spoke the words before anyone had thought to tell him not to.

This time, the transformation worked. Having his own body transfigured was still a strange sensation, but one he had experienced before. This time was only a little more involved than his previous experiences. He felt the feathers cover part of his face, extending downwards even where his clothing used to begin. Something about his vision had shifted as well, but he was not sure in what way.

Sirius reversed his transformation, not waiting to see if Harry would manage it himself. "That was risky. You should've waited for me to find out what sort of transformation would result from it. A whole phrase, Harry—" He broke off, smoothing out his worried expression.

Harry shook his head. He could not fully explain it, but he felt it had to happen that way. "I had to overcome my fear," he said.

Sirius looked like he wanted to admonish him some more, but let it go, instead holding out a yellowed, faded newspaper article. Harry, Ron and Hermione moved closer to take a look.

"It's a strange one," said Sirius, walking over to the windowsill. "My brother's room is littered with articles about Voldemort's rise to power – from the years leading up to the war, from when we were teenagers." After moving things out of the way, Sirius carefully laid out the very threadbare paper for them to read. "This one's much older. It's still from the old war against Grindelwald – World War II in the muggle world. And it was hidden, stashed under a whole bunch of newer articles. If not for last year's events, I'd never have guessed that it had anything at all to do with Voldemort, but—"

He stopped when he heard the gasps from the adolescents, who were now busy reading the article. It was about a murder. A certain Tom Riddle, muggle, had been murdered by a certain Morfin Gaunt, who had confessed to the crime, then continued on to complain about some lost locket. The article was very short, merely giving the facts as they were known.

Sirius nodded at the solemn, intrigued faces that gazed back at him, once the three friends were done reading. "Voldemort's closest magical ancestor was a Gaunt, and his muggle father's name was Riddle. Curious, wouldn't you say?"


End file.
